


Little Explosions of Hope

by Meraad



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mild Smut, Minor Character Death, Sex, Sex Work, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-05-25 17:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 132,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraad/pseuds/Meraad
Summary: Wren, a half-elf, with a penchant for crafting potions and tonics, has spent most of her life trying to stay out of Alienages and Mage Towers. Just when she thought she'd found herself a bit of freedom in Kirkwall, she realizes she was very wrong after two very unwanted visits.Cullen has been in Kirkwall for well over a year, and while he quickly worked up the Templar ranks, he still is struggling to put the events at Kinloch Hold behind him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a visual representation of Wren https://andaran-atish-an.tumblr.com/post/185871358048
> 
> Yet another story I did not need to start, but here it is. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Additional Tags will be added as the story progresses, including relationship/character tags.

Wren’s knees ached from kneeling on the hard wooden floor of her tiny hovel and pain ricocheted up her spine to center between her shoulders with a dull throb. Almost there, she thought, keeping the slow pace of her stirring constant. The temperamental tonic took hours to brew and the conditions had to be just so, or it wouldn’t work. The room was nearly pitch black, save for a candle burned almost all the way out on the far side of the room. Wren had used her body to cast a shadow over the little cauldron before her.

The knock on the door caused her to flinch, cursing quietly she drew in a breath, steadied her arm and continued to stir. “Just a minute,” she called to whoever stood on the other side. Almost, she thought, watching the color shifting from dark mossy green to something paler. Slowly, slowly.

The pounding knock came again. “Give me ten minutes!” Wren shouted angrily. Silence. Trails of shimmering grass green. Just a few more seconds, she thought and it would be perfect.

The loud bang caused her to falter, she barely kept from tipping over the cauldron but realized it didn’t matter as the front door burst in, her flimsy lock clattering to the floor and light filled the room. “No,” she breathed. “No, no, no.” Wren squinted as she looked in the bowl and it had turned to sludge. Dark and rancid. “Damnit!” she shouted and spun to snarl at whoever it was who had kicked in her door. A thief? Likely.

But as she spun, still on her knees, her breath lodged in her throat and she was frozen. A Templar stood in the doorway, sneering at her. “Practicing blood magic, Mage?”

“I’m not a mage,” her voice was a tremulous whisper as she avoided meeting his gaze. She knew this Templar and he knew damn good and well that she was not a mage.

“You’re meant to be in the Circle,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. “Or at the very least in the Alienage where you belong.”

Wren wanted to rail, to scream and argue, but she knew it was pointless. He would threaten and needle her, take what he wanted and leave for a few weeks. It was easier if she just did what he wanted. When the Templar stopped in front of her, she kept her head down, willed away the burning behind her eyes and tried to take steadying breaths.

His hand slid into her thick copper hair, a mockery of tenderness for just a moment, then her curls caught in the metal hinges and he curled his hand into a fist and yanked her head back forcing her to look up at him. “And already on your knees for me.”

An eternity later, she was alone again, her skin damp and flushed from the near scalding bath she’d taken the moment he’d left. The door hung half off the hinges and her heart sunk. It wouldn’t keep out even a stiff breeze. The room reeked of the rancid tonic and sex. Body aching worse than before, she limped across the small room to the table where she brewed her tonics but wobbled when she heard a knock at her door.

Looking up, her heart sank. Templar, and this time, not just any Templar. _No_ , she thought bitterly. _Not without a fight_.

“Excuse me,” he said, peering past the open door. “I am Knight-Captain Cullen, I wanted to speak with you.”

Wren didn’t respond, she continued to the table, curled her hand around the head of her cane, and rested her weight heavily on it before she began to make her way back across the room. The Knight-Captain continued speaking. “I am sorry to intrude.” The door was open now, and he stood on the threshold. Wren shot him a sidelong look and continued to the chest that contained the few extra potions and tonics. “I’m looking for a Templar, I was told he was seen coming here earlier.”

Sinking down onto her knees again was agony and she let out a quiet grunt as they collided with the hard floor once more. Bruised, most definitely bruised. Lifting the lid, she peered inside, spotted the small bottle she wanted and curled her fist around it.

“I am concerned, he’s been acting strangely as of late, and I am trying to get to the bottom of the matter.” He was closer now, she wouldn’t have to lob the bottle far.

Wren turned, still on her knees and stared up at him. The Knight-Captain stood in the center of her small room, his brow knitted together. “I am not a mage,” she ground the words out past the rocks that seemed to have formed in her throat. “I will not go to the Circle. I will not be your whore.”

“I didn’t-” he shook his head and then he was closing the distance between them. “Maker’s breath.” Panic flared in her chest, he moved faster than she could. “Who did this?” Leather clad fingers touched her throat and Wren’s fingers spasmed, the bottle tumbled from her hand and she was defenseless.

“Please, don’t,” Wren rasped, begged and she hated herself for it. Clenching her eyes shut she tried to breathe, flexed her fingers and felt the smooth wooden shaft of her cane. _Not without a fight_.

“Was Templar Morelli here?” She jerked her head in a tiny nod. “Is he responsible for this?” Wren hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror after cleaning herself up, hadn’t wanted to see just how bad it was, but she swore she could still feel his fist around her throat. Another little nod. Wren forced her eyes open, met the gaze of the Knight-Captain and swung her cane as hard as she could.

The angle was strange, prevented her from putting much force behind it, but he fell backward nonetheless. Then she scrambled away from him, over the pallet that was her bed, until she reached the wall and she could hear him cursing. Wren was halfway up when he was in front of her again, this time looking like a storm cloud. “I am not going to-”

She swung again, this time aiming up between his legs. But he shifted, caught her cane and gripped it so tight she couldn’t pull it back. “Maker’s breath, would you stop that! I’m not going to hurt you!”

“Fuck you,” Wren spat, shoved the cane at him and then her hands were on the wall, using it to steady herself as she stood. “Fucking Templars. Get the fuck out then!” Backing toward the short table, each step sent pain shooting up from her ankle to the base of her spine.

“Have you any idea where he might have gone?” the Knight-Captain asked and she sneered.

“Face down in the harbor I hope.” Reaching back, Wren wrapped her hand around the edge of her cauldron, shifting it caused a fetid wave of stench to roll through the room. The man’s nose flared and his mouth twisted. “Get out,” she repeated, her voice low and even as she poised, ready to toss the whole thing at him. Surely it would get her sent straight into a dungeon, but if it could distract him long enough for her to hide, she could flee once night fell.

He lifted his hands, placating, then seemed to realize he still held her cane and gently set it down, resting it against the wall. “Apologies, my lady,” he said, his voice gentle, but she didn’t believe it. “If by chance Morelli isn’t face down in the harbor and he returns, please, send word to me.” Turning, he headed for the door, paused and she followed his gaze to the broken lock that still lay on the floor.

Then he was outside and she heaved a deep sigh and dropped the cauldron onto the table and slumped down onto the edge of it. Rubbing a hand over her face she wanted to weep. The tonic, the ingredients that were so hard to come by. Her door. She’d thought she was safe. It had been a handful of relatively peaceful months since she left the Blooming Rose with barely enough money to buy the tiny shack on the fringes of Darktown.

First Thomas, then the Knight-Captain of all people. Wren didn’t believe for a moment he hadn’t meant her just as much harm. Angrily, Wren pushed up to her feet and barely stifled the whimper of pain and let out a bitter curse. It had been weeks since she’d been in so much pain. “Fuck!” Wren shouted, staggering to the wall where she grabbed her cane and leaned on it even more heavily than before.

“Stupid fucking Templars,” she muttered. The door. She had to barricade it somehow. Having it blowing in the wind once night fell would only be asking for trouble. Only she didn’t have anything heavy enough to hold it closed. The chest, she realized, that held her few tonics and potions. Eyeing the distance between it and the door, a tear finally trickled down her cheek. It would take until nightfall most likely. Then tomorrow she would have to go out and see if she could find someone who would be able to fix the door.

That meant another day at the very least before she could go out and gather the ingredients to try the tonic again and she wasn’t sure if little Ari would last that long. The tears fell in earnest now as she yanked and tugged on the chest, pulling it away from the wall. She hit her knees, felt the reverberation all the way up her spine and to her teeth.

Wren hated to use the pain tonics, hated the way the seemed to numb her mind as well as her body. “It’s fine,” she breathed, pushing the chest across the floor. The only sound was her labored breaths and the scrape of wood on wood. Tears blinded her and she drew in slow steady breaths but it was useless. It didn’t help. A quiet sob escaped her lips and she hated… everything.

Dropping her forehead against the top of the chest she rested and almost wished she were a Mage. If she were, she would have cursed Thomas Morelli three years ago, the first day he walked into the Blooming Rose and set his sadistic sights on her. The sound of knuckles on the door frame had her snarling. “Fuck off!” Wren shouted, tried to get up, but the pain spasmed up her legs, and through her hips into her middle. No, she wasn’t going anywhere.

The knock came again and this time, she didn’t even have the energy to shout. Wren just kept her forehead against the cool wood and thought about wishing for death. She heard the creak of the door a muttered curse. “My lady…?” No, she thought, incredulous. He’d come back. The idiot Knight-Captain had returned. Well, she thought, she wouldn’t make it easy on him.

“Go away,” it came out barely a croak. Then she heard footsteps.

“Are you-” he paused, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye as he crouched down beside her. “Are you alright?”

“Go away,” she said again, not moving. Not so much as deigning to lift her head and look at him. After a moment he stood, she heard his retreating footsteps and then the creak of wood. Metal. Pounding of nails.

Curiosity got the better of her and Wren shifted, tilting her head to the side so she could see what he was doing and her breath lodged in her throat. The door hung straight once again and the pounding was- her brow furrowed. The Knight-Captain was installing a new lock, one that looked far stronger than the previous one that still lay bent and useless on the floor near his feet.

Finished with his task, he turned, looked at her and seemed startled to see her watching him. “Well,” he said with a slight nod. “Can I get you anything? Help…?”

“No,” she bit out the word and his back straightened.

“Very well, my lady,” he inclined his head and then slipped out the door, closing it gently behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the fact that Wren’s tiny home had no windows she was still very much aware of when morning came. She could clearly hear the people up and bustling about, starting their days. She wasn’t sure when she’d finally managed to fall asleep, because despite the salve she had rubbed into her lower back and down her legs, the pain hadn’t let up. It had been bad enough, and she’d been desperate enough, that she’d almost taken the pain tonic.

But then she’d found herself staring at the door, terrified that he might come back. Being able to at least snarl at him, even if she couldn’t hold him off physically was one thing, completely another to be unconscious and to wake up not knowing what had happened. Opening her eyes, Wren stared up at the ceiling, the room still reeked of the ruined tonic. At least with her door fixed she would be able to go hunt down the ingredients that she needed and wouldn’t have to wait.

If she could make it that far. No, she had to. For Ari. Rolling onto her side, Wren held in the gasp that threatened to escape at the sharp pain in her back. _Fuck_ , she clenched her eyes shut, held her breath and rolled over the rest of the way and pushed up onto her hands and knees. Maybe she’d drink just a little of one of the pain tonics.

Getting up and into the small bathroom that consisted of a tub that might have been big enough for a four year old, a broken basin and the main reason she’d been so set on her little hovel, the water pump that meant she wouldn’t have to go out and carry jugs of water back to her place, or more likely, pay someone to carry them for her. Cleaning up and dressing took far longer than she would have liked. Wren had hoped to hit the market district early since a couple of the ingredients she needed to replenish were harder to come by.

Wren combed her hair back and twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck before grabbing her long scarf and wrapping it over her head, and around her shoulders. A habit of comfort now more than to hide as she had when she was younger. The slight point of her not-quite-human ears sometimes drew attention, and on several occasions had nearly gotten her tossed into an Alienage.

Finally, bag hanging across her chest, her cane clutched in her hand she made her way to the door, her fingers pausing for a moment on the new, sturdy lock. What had possessed the Knight-Captain to do it? And why did she care? The man could rot for all she cared. Every single one of them could and she would dance merrily around their pyre.

Cullen hadn’t been able to track down Morelli and that worried him. He believed the man, a few years older than Cullen himself, was perhaps straying from the Order and their beliefs. But after seeing that woman, Maker, he still didn’t even know her name, Cullen knew Templar Morelli had gone over the line that he himself straddled and had since Kinloch Hold.

Mages were dangerous and needed to be kept in line. Strict consequences were for their own protection as well as the protection of the innocents. But if Morelli had gone so far as to… well, Cullen may be naive but he wasn’t stupid. He figured out quickly enough what had happened before he arrived.

_I am not a mage._

Was that the threat Morelli used to manipulate her? Were there others? Likely. But he needed more proof before he could act. Having been given the title of Knight-Captain, he would not stand idly by while atrocities were committed.

Perhaps the elven woman would be more amenable today if he explained exactly what he wanted. There was obviously no love lost between her and the Templar. Or any Templar for that matter. Cullen made his way through Kirkwall to that little door on the edge of Darktown and lifted his hand to knock. He hesitated for a moment, then reassured himself the door was intact, and the lock as well, then finally knocked. He was greeted with silence. Before she had shouted to go away, so he waited. Still nothing.

He knocked again. Waited, and sighed and wasn’t sure what his next step would be. “When are you damn Templars going to leave that poor girl alone.” A voice groused from behind him and Cullen turned, saw an older woman sitting on the front step of the home across the narrow alleyway.

“I am not here to cause her any trouble,” Cullen said, crossing over to her. The woman snorted, disbelieving. Lowering down into a crouch to put them closer to eye level, Cullen held out a hand. “I am Cullen. Have other Templars been harassing her? I know of one, which is why I am here. I want to put a stop to it.”

The woman eyed him and his outstretched hand and made it clear she wasn’t going to shake it. Cullen withdrew. “Do you know where I might find her?”

“She ain’t a mage.”

“I am aware,” Cullen said. “I promise you, I only want to help her.”

“She don’t like you Templars. None of us do.”

Cullen let out a quiet sigh, realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. “I am aware of that as well.” Pushing up to his feet, he reached up, ran a hand through his hair. He could wait for her to return, but if Templar Morelli came back, Cullen didn’t want him to know that he had every intention of punishing him for his actions. Not until he had proof, and sadly, simply harassing a young woman wasn’t enough to garner the kind of punishment Cullen wanted. “I apologize for taking up your time.”

He turned away and decided he would try again later.

“Check the market,” a voice called after him and Cullen turned, but the woman was blatantly ignoring him.

“Thank you,” he said and saw her look at him and sneer. Then to the market. It took him longer to find her than he had expected it would. With the vibrant copper of her hair, he thought she would have been easy to spot, but when he finally did see her, standing at a table that held an assortment of plants and flowers and little glass vials, he noted the muddy brown scarf wrapped around her head.

“Fucking Templars,” she muttered as he got close enough to overhear her. “I was almost finished with that tonic for Ari.”

The man on the other side of the table winced, then looked up, saw Cullen and made a quiet sound. The woman’s spine visibly stiffened and he saw her hand tighten on her cane. She reached into her pocket, pulled out coins and handed them over to the man who was still watching Cullen from the corner of his eye. “Thank you, hopefully, I won’t see you for a few days.” She tucked the parcel into the bag that hung at her hip.

“Take this,” the man said and she shook her head.

“No, I can’t, I- it’s fine.”

“Wren,” the man’s voice was lower and she hesitated, then finally took it and shoved it into the bag before turning on her heel.

Wren. That was her name. She looked up at him, turquoise eyes meeting Cullen’s and she snarled. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. What brings you to the slums for a second day, Knight Captain?”

“I was hoping to speak with you,” he said, his voice low, trying not to draw more attention than they already had.

“Are you planning on dragging me to the Circle?” Wren apparently had no qualms about the attention.

“What? No, of course not,” he said, flustered. “Would you please just hear me out?”

Wren walked past him, her shoulder jarring against his, for a moment he worried it might have unsteadied her, but her lip curled and she kept walking. “It isn’t as if I can run away. What do you want from Knight-Captain?”

Cullen quickly fell into pace with her, despite the cane, despite how much pain she’d seemed to be in the day before, her steps were quick. “I do not condone Templar Morelli’s actions and I believe there is more to his crimes than what occurred yesterday.”

“Good for you,” she glanced at him, and Cullen had never had anyone so much shorter than him look down on him with such disdain. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Do you believe he will visit you again?”

Wren let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Visit? You make it sound as if he came around for tea, like some dignified social call.” Cullen’s cheeks flamed red and he ducked his head. “He kicked in my door, destroyed all my work that day, and do you want the details? Do I need to spell out exactly what happened to you, Knight-Captain?”

He flinched. “No,” his voice was quiet. “I didn’t mean-” he swallowed. “I want him punished for that, but without proof, there is nothing I can do.”

She stopped abruptly and Cullen did as well, looked down at her as she tilted her head up to stare at him. “So, what? You want me to just wait around for him to come back, because he will come back, he always does, and then what? Come crying to you when he does?”

Cullen shook his head and tried to figure out what it was about this woman that flustered him so terribly. “No, it wouldn’t be enough proof.” Not for the Knight-Commander anyway. “I need to witness it.”

Wren’s mouth fell open and she stared at him for a long second. “Fuck. You.” she ground the words out between clenched teeth and Cullen didn’t even see her lift her cane, but it struck him in the chest, would have hurt if he weren’t wearing his armor. She started walking again, faster this time, the limp more pronounced. “Fucking Templars. Stupid fucking fucks. Fucking Kirkwall. Fuck all of this.”

Cullen hurried after her, avoiding the looks from those who had witnessed the entire scene. “That isn’t what I meant. Not like that. Please, I swear that is not what I meant.”

“All you fucking Templars are the same. I fucking hate all of you and I hope you fucking rot.”

He kept trying to speak, to apologize and explain, but all Wren heard was the roaring in her ears. The audacity. Each step sent pain spiking up her back, but she wouldn’t stop, would not slow down. She wouldn’t give the Knight-Captain a chance to try and make everything worse. _I need to witness it._ Rage and shame made her face feel hot as she fished her key from her pocket as the door to her home came into view.

But in her haste, she fumbled it and a quiet cry escaped her lips as it fell from her fingers and hit the ground at her feet. Angry tears burned her eyes as she watched the Knight-Captain crouch down and pick up the key. “Wren,” he spoke her name gently and she wanted to lash out, to hit him with her cane again, this time maybe across the side of his stupid Templar head. “Wren,” he said again and she wondered when he’d learned her name. “I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant. I want to help-”

Wrenching the key from his hand she shoved it into the lock, turned it and threw open the door. “I don’t need or want any fucking help from you.” Wren stepped over the threshold, turned and sneered down at him. “Leave me the fuck alone.” Then she slammed the door as hard as she could, and fastened the lock he’d installed the previous day before she collapsed back against the door and slowly slid down to the floor as she tried to calm her breathing and her racing heart.


	3. Chapter 3

When Wren could finally breathe again, she forced herself to get up and go to her little work table where she put down her bag and just stood there for several long moments. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.” First things first, she crossed to her bed, snatched her pillow up and went back to the table. It was a little relief to kneel on it, rather than the hard wooden floor. Then she dug into her bag and found the little tiny brown paper envelope and opened it.

She wanted to weep. Most of the tonics made her feel loopy and fuzzy headed. Some just put her to sleep outright. It was far too expensive for her to afford to buy the stuff that didn’t. A very rare treat. She stared down at the two tiny pale purple buds in her palm. Part of her wanted to save it for another time. For when the pain was so bad she couldn’t get out of bed.

But her body still ached from the day before, and if she was going to be kneeling in front of her table again for hours more today, she had to take it now, or Wren knew she wouldn’t make it out to Ari’s house. Carefully she placed the buds in her mortar and began to grind it down. It was enough for two days. Four if she stretched it out. Shifting, she winced at the ache in her hips, the dull throb at the base of her spine. No, she wasn’t strong enough for that today.

Tipping the mortar over onto a piece of paper she moved slow and steady, making sure she didn’t lose even a speck of the ground up flower. Half the contents she poured into a little vial, the other half she tipped into the chipped porcelain teacup. Wren lit a flame in the small cast iron stove that acted as a heat source when it was cold and the only way she could cook and heat water.

While Wren waited for the water to boil, she began measuring out all the ingredients for Ari’s tonic. Made sure she had everything just so. She would not let this one be ruined. Eyeing the door for a moment, she glanced back at the wooden chest that still sat in the middle of the room. Her own tonic first, then she’d block the door, then Ari’s tonic. Once the water boiled, she tipped a little bit into the teacup, swirled it around and counted to twenty. The water was scalding, but the temperature affected how potent the flower buds were.

“Who needs to feel their tongue?” she muttered, making sure there wasn’t even a trace left in the cup before she began the tedious task of pushing the chest in front of the door. She wasn’t going to take any chances this time. Her back and legs still spasmed with little bolts of pain occasionally, but it was drastically more tolerable.

By the time Wren finished the tonic, her body ached dully. More stiff than anything. Corking the bottle, she wrapped it in a soft linen towel then tucked it into her bag. She stood, made quick work of pushing the chest out from in front of the door, slung her bag across her chest and grabbed her cane. As she slipped out the door, she was grateful that Alaros had given her the means to make the pain elixir. He shouldn’t have, they were so expensive, Wren knew she had to figure out a way to repay him. The walk across Kirkwall took a long time, but the weather was mild and without the nagging pain in her back, it was almost nice.

“Wen!” a little voice shouted and Wren grinned as little Ari jumped and danced at the edge of the stoop. Ari glanced over her shoulder, got the nod of approval from her father who appeared, wiping his hands on a towel, and then Ari was practically flying down the stairs and the short distance to where Wren stood. “Up! Up! Up!” the little girl cried, thrusting her hands up into the air.

“Ari,” her father chided, but Wren waved him off and instead of picking the girl up, she crouched down, sinking onto her knees and gave her a hug.

“Hello my sweet girl,” she said, brushing a lock of inky black hair back from a chubby-cheeked face. Ari’s arms curled around Wren’s neck, hugged her tight and Wren peppered loud, smacking kisses all over the girls face until she shrieked with joy.

Then Ari was running back to the door. “You stay? Mama made cookies!”

Wren used her cane to push herself back up and smiled. “Cookies?” she asked and made her way to the front stoop. Ari nodded and darted inside.

Olan came down the two steps and offered Wren a smile. “You have a shadow,” he said, voice low.

Wren smiled brightly and nodded. “I know, can I come in for a minute?”

“Of course, he causing trouble?”

“It’s alright, Olan.” Then he stepped aside and Wren took the steps up and into the little house. It was warm and a lightly sweet scent filled the air. The cookies Ari mentioned. Wren continued into the kitchen where she found Madal gently chiding Ari.

“But it’s for Wen!” she exclaimed.

“Wren doesn’t want a cookie you’ve taken a bite out of, young lady.”

Wren grinned and took the cookie Madal handed to her. “Thank you,” she said, then hugged the petite woman. Olan followed behind and leaned his hip against the counter. “And, here,” she reached into her bag, pulled out the glass bottle and unwrapped it.

Ari’s nose wrinkled in disgust as her mom took the bottle and clutched it to her chest. “Tastes like dirt,” Ari bemoaned but opened her mouth to take the spoonful that Madal gave her.

“It is dirt,” Wren told her, her lips twitching. “Otherwise you might grow three feet and turn into a human. I didn’t take my tonic, and look what happened to my ears, they shrunk!” Wren flicked back part of her scarf revealing the slight point to her otherwise small, almost human ears.

“Nu-uh!” Ari exclaimed, but then looked at her father with wide eyes. “Papa!”

The dwarven man chuckled quietly. “Better not risk it,” he said with a wink. “Why don’t you go play in your room for a bit,” he said and Ari huffed, snatched another cookie, then threw her arms around Wren’s legs in a quick hug before she was gone down the short hallway.

“How has she been?” Wren asked when the girl was out of earshot.

“Today is a good day,” Olan said. “The last few days, not so much.” She clutched the glass bottle to her chest, almost reverently. “I can’t-we can’t thank you enough. We’ll pay you back, somehow. I… I don’t know how, but-” tears rolled down her cheeks and she tried to wipe them away.

“Hush,” Wren shook her head. “It is fine. Give me a few of those cookies to take home and we’ll call it even.”

“I’ll bring some food by your place later,” Wren tried to wave off the offer, but Olan shook his head. “Don’t argue. We don’t have money, but we can at least help feed you. Now, why is a Templar following you?”

Wren sighed and caught the look of panic on Madal’s face. “Morelli tracked me down yesterday,” she said with a sigh. “Then the Knight-Captain came looking for him.”

“Are they making trouble for you?”

“It’s fine,” she reassured them. “I can take care of it. The tonic is enough for the month. I should have been out here a few days ago with it, but...” Ari wasn’t the only one who had bad days. “I’ll make sure that it doesn’t lapse like that again.”

“Wren, you know we don’t… we don’t expect you to do this. We’re so grateful. But if you didn’t-” his voice broke. “It’s not going to-” His eyes were wet. They all knew, eventually, even the tonic wouldn’t help Ari.

Wren reached out, squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Let me slip out the back door, and we’ll call it all even.” Olan rubbed at his eyes, and nodded, gesturing to the narrow doorway that lead into the small garden and then an alley. “Do me a favor and give me twenty minutes before you go outside.” It would give her enough time to get where she needed to be, without the Knight-Captain realizing she’d already left.

“Of course, anything you need Wren. I’ll come by later with food.”

Wren hugged them both and then slipped out the door. She made her way back toward her own home, but stopped in one of the narrow alleyways and leaned against the wall to wait. It didn’t take long, about half an hour after she’d left the Utack’s house, Cullen stepped into the alley. He didn’t notice her at first, but when he did, he came to an abrupt halt. “You’re not very good at skulking, Knight-Captain.”

“Please, let me explain-”

Wren held up her hand and he snapped his mouth shut. “If I agree to this, to being your bait for Morelli, what happens to him?”

“You aren’t bait,” Cullen tried to say but she just looked at him, knowing. That is exactly what she was. “He will be punished.”

“How? A gentle chiding from the Knight-Commander? You know I’m not the only one he’s done this to. I can’t be and if you didn’t know about it, there was another reason you were going after him. So I want to know, is he going to get a slap on the wrist and come back for me and do worse than he’s done before as payback? Or possibly one of his good friends from the Order?” She watched the blood drain from his face as if he hadn’t considered the repercussions of her helping him. “I want him dead. As I said, face down in the harbor works for me.”

“I can’t-” Cullen swallowed visibly. “I cannot sanction murder. But I will see to it that he rots in a prison cell for the rest of his life. You will be safe.”

Wren stared at him for a long moment. “Swear to it.”

“I swear on my honor as a Templar-”

Wren snorted. “Fuck your honor and your Templars.”

After a long moment, Cullen lifted his hand to his chest, his palm covering the engraved flaming sword. “I swear on my life, that Templar Thomas Morelli will never lay a hand on you, or anyone else, ever again and that you will not suffer for aiding me in this.”

She searched his face, he sounded honest enough. “You have a deal,” she said, then turned and started walking again.

Cullen fell into step beside Wren and he was surprised, to say the least, that she had agreed. His plan had just been to survey her until he either found Morelli at the tower, or he showed up to harass her again. But the fact that she’d spotted him and slipped his watch made it crystal clear that Cullen was not a spy. “Who was that family you visited?” Cullen found himself asking. The round-faced little girl had seemed excited to see Wren and the man had been welcoming.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Knight-Captain. We’re not friends. I don’t want to chat with you and I most certainly am not going to tell you anything about any of the people living here in Kirkwall,” her tone was a sharp reprimand and brooked no argument.

“Understood,” he agreed. They continued their journey to her door in silence, while Cullen tried to sort her out in his head. She hated him, that was quite clear, seemingly on the basis of him being a Templar. He had noted her table when he’d been inside the day before, her tonics and potions. A simple apothecary, no magic involved. Perhaps she knew someone who was a mage and they had been taken to a Circle. Maybe she didn’t understand just how dangerous they were.

Wren unlocked the door and walked inside and Cullen found himself hesitating on the doorstep, unsure if he was welcome. She was halfway to the table when she looked back at him and raised her brows. “Well? Are you coming in or not? If you lurk outside he’ll spot you and you’ll never be able to get your hands on him.”

Cheeks heating, Cullen stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The room was doused in inky darkness, but after a second he heard the soft whoosh of a flame and watched as she placed a match against the wick of the oil lamp that sat on one end of the table. Unsure, he continued to stand there, absorbed in watching her. Delicate hands reached up, tugged the scarf back from her head and unlooped it from around her throat. The copper curls were restrained in a loose braid and Cullen blinked at her ears.

Very much not human ears. “Why don’t you live in the Alienage?” he asked and was granted a sharp look, her dark teal eyes almost glowing in the lamplight. He should have realized it before when he’d seen her eyes. They were not human.

“Because I’m not an elf,” Wren snapped at him. “I have worked every day of my life to keep myself out of those hell holes, and if you speak one word of them to me again, you can get the fuck out.”

The vehemence with which she spoke had Cullen fumbling for an apology. Sorry, would not be sufficient. He imagined the only thing she would accept would be Morelli being taken away in chains, and never laying eyes on himself ever again. “I didn’t mean to offend, I had only meant-” They had to be better than this, didn’t they? Better than living in a too small, empty one-room hovel with no windows and only a pile of blankets for a bed. “I won’t speak of it again, I apologize.”


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen stood awkward and uncomfortable near the door while Wren put the kettle onto the small stove. She ignored him, blatantly as she prepared herself a cup of tea then crossed over to the small pallet in the corner, she sunk down onto the cushion and pressed her back to the wall. “Do you have a plan for taking Morelli in?” she asked, lifting the chipped teacup to her lips and blowing across the surface.

Truthfully, Cullen had no idea, and from the way Wren looked at him over the brim of her cup, she knew that. “If-you would tell me something of how you met him. When he might return?” There had been rumors, quiet whispers, that had led Cullen to believe that Templar Morelli might have been sneaking mages out of Kirkwall. A handful of suspected mages had gone missing, including a few who had been on their way from another Circle.

But after seeing Wren, Cullen no longer believed that Morelli was helping mages, but rather helping himself to them, before likely killing them.

“Would you stop looming!” she barked out suddenly. “Sit down!”

Cullen flushed and glanced around as if looking for something to perch on, but the room was empty, save for her pallet, the worktable and the chest that sat near the door. It was awkward, his armor loud and it bunched uncomfortably, but he sat down on the floor, his back against the wall, mirroring her. If he wanted her help, he’d have to do as she bid. Wren didn’t speak again for long minutes and Cullen wasn’t sure if she planned on telling him anything.

“I met that asshole three years ago when I was working at the Blooming Rose.” Cullen blinked in surprise but schooled his features when she looked at him with a raised brow, as if just waiting for him to judge her. “Rules were, he couldn’t leave a mark. But he’d come as close as he could get. There were a couple of other girls there that he liked too, but sick fucker got off on making me play the helpless mage. He isn’t the only one, you know that right?” She sneered at him. “Fucking Templars.”

The disdain that filled the word had the contents of Cullen’s stomach-turning to stone. Mentally, he warred over the idea. At least these women were being paid for it. But how many of the Templars were also acting this way toward the mages in the Circle.

“He’d show up every couple of weeks. He likes it when they beg for their life.” Her gaze had gone unfocused, and Cullen wondered if she was remembering doing just that. “I left the Rose a few months ago, finally had enough money to get out of there. I hadn’t thought he’d come find me. Never thought I’d see him again. I should have known better. Now he doesn’t have to pay and can leave as many marks as he pleases.”

Looking at her, Cullen understood her desire to see him floating face down in the harbor. She blinked, focused back on him and took another sip of her tea. “He’ll come back. I don’t know when, but he will come back.”

Nodding shortly, Cullen moved as if to stand. “I’ll adjust my rotation and stand within view of your door, but far enough away, that even if he were to see me, he shouldn’t suspect-”

“Since when do Templars stand guard in Darktown?” Wren scoffed.

“Then I’ll find a good hiding place-”

“I spotted you the second I walked out my door earlier. You really think-” a knock on the door cut off her words. Both of them looked over quickly. “Who is it?” Wren called, and Cullen knew it would be too lucky to have Morelli show up again so soon.

“It’s Olan.”

Wren jerked her chin toward the door. “Open it, would you?”

Cullen got to his feet, silently cursing the pinch and chafe of his armor as he did so. But he stood and crossed the room to pull open the door. The expression on the dwarf’s face went from surprise to outrage in a heartbeat. The man shoved past Cullen, his eyes searching the room. “Wren? Everything okay?”

“I’m fine, Olan, it’s alright. Is that the vegetables?” she asked and Cullen noticed the small sack hanging over his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said stiffly, glancing back at Cullen. “Madal made another batch of those cookies for you,” Olan told her, then crossed over to the small space that was her workspace and kitchen. He withdrew a box and left the bag on the counter before crossing over to kneel at the edge of Wren’s bed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Wren reached out, taking the box with a gentle smile. “It’s fine. Promise. Thank Madal for me, would you?”

Olan stood again and gave Cullen a hard glare as he crossed to the door. “See you soon, Wren.”

“Bye,” she called after him and once the door snicked shut she looked at Cullen. “One, you stick out like a sore thumb. You can’t hide in Darktown, not like that. While some might welcome a Templar, most would prefer you be gutted,” she said it so casually. “Much as I dislike the idea,” she drew in a deep breath. “You’ll have to stay in here, or else you’ll either get run out of Darktown, or Morelli will see you and the jig will be up.” Her brow knitted together for a moment and she shook her head. “How is this going to work? You’ll just come spend an hour or so here, in the hopes that he shows up at that time? You certainly have other duties as the Knight-Captain.”

“The Knight-Commander knows I am pursuing a possible problem within the Templars. I have been given leave to conduct my investigation. My plan was to stand guard from morning till evening.”

The look that crossed Wren’s face was definitely one of pure horror. But then she drew in a breath, seemed to steel herself and nodded. “Fine. But you come before the sun is up, you leave after it has gone down. Fewer people will notice you that way. You cannot wear that armor here, or everyone will be suspect… it will be bad enough as it is. If anyone comes to the door, you will hide yourself in the privy and one word, Knight-Captain. I swear to you, if you say one word about any of the people that come to my door, you’ll be finding yourself face down in the harbor.”

Her vehemence made him curious and with few other options, if Cullen wanted his hands on Morelli, he’d have to bow to her wishes. “Of course, Serah,” he said with an incline of his head. “You will understand if I bring a chair with me though. I wouldn’t want to be accused of _looming_.”

The corner of her mouth twitched and he almost wondered if she was going to smile. Her face lit up when she did. Despite the roundness of her features, her face was schooled into hard lines, except when she smiled. “Whatever,” she muttered with a sneer and Cullen inclined his head.

“Very well,” he said. “It is a deal. If you believe that he will not return tonight, I will leave you, sort things out and return in the morning.”

“I’ll be fine,” Wren told him, setting aside her now empty teacup she got to her feet and bit back a groan at the stretch of muscle. She was not ecstatic about this new arrangement, but the idea of the Templar bastard actually paying for his crimes had her convinced she’d do nearly anything. Even if it meant spending time in the same space as the dreaded Knight-Captain. She wanted to needle him. To poke and prod and make his life hell, but Wren knew she was only a means to an end, and just because he wanted to stop Morelli, it didn’t mean that Knight-Captain Cullen was any better.

It would only be a couple of days. A few weeks at most. Now that Morelli had found her she didn’t imagine he would wait long to come back and torment her. She could handle the knight-captain in her space for that long. She could endure his presence. Wren followed him to the door, pressed her hand to the frame and watched him as he hesitated. “I want to thank you for agreeing to help me.”

“I don’t want your thanks,” Wren said with a sharp shake of her head. “I want him to pay for what he’s done and never to be able to lay so much as a finger on anyone else, ever again.”

Cullen inclined his head, and Wren watched him leave then closed the door, slid the lock home and went so far as to push the chest in front of the door again. Then she sighed and slumped down onto it. Helping a Templar. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. What would Lanasa think? Or her own mother for that matter? Closing her eyes tightly, she knew, they would like it as much as she did but would agree, it was for the best.

Wren stood, made her way to her little kitchen nook and sorted through the bag of vegetables that Olan had brought her. Half she stored away for later, the rest she cut up and tossed into a pot for stew. Then she began heating water and carrying it into the bathroom and filling the small tub. She hadn’t been able to properly wash after what had happened the day before. A pot of boiling water and a bar of soap, she’d scrubbed herself as clean as she could manage. But now, she had a moments respite. Her back didn’t ache and her legs felt, if not strong beneath her, stable enough, even with the earlier walk across Kirkwall.

By the time the tub was full, the water was still steaming and just the way Wren liked it. She stripped and stepped in. “Someday,” she murmured, stretching out as best she could, which even with as small as she was, as short, wasn’t much. Leaning against one side, she stretched her legs out and pressed her feet to the other end. If the tub weren’t so deep, her knees would have been jutting out, but small favors, she thought and rested her head on the brim and closed her eyes. “Someday,” she said again. “I will have a bathtub big enough to stretch out all the way in.”


	5. Chapter 5

Wren woke up early the next morning, wanting to be ready long before the Knight-Captain arrived at her door. She dressed and brewed a small pot of tea while she ate a piece of bread slathered in butter. Wren planned to keep herself busy today, in hopes of distracting herself from the fact that a Templar was going to be lurking in her home. It’s for the best, she tried reminding herself.

Thomas will show up again Cullen will be here to arrest him. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest and she sunk her teeth into her lower lip, wondering if maybe this was the worst idea she had ever agreed to. Wren sorted through her ingredients, knew a few people would be by for a couple of different tonics and herbal blends.

The knock on the door had her freezing in the middle of gently tugging the petals off a dried flower stem. She could ignore it. He’d leave. But then, what else would Thomas do to her? How much worse would it get? He’d kill her eventually, wouldn’t he? Her body still ached dully, though the soak in the bath had helped considerably. Wren knew that she would never be strong enough to fight him off, to keep him away.

“You know he’s hurt others,” she whispered, bracing her hands on the table to push up to her feet. The knock came again and she flipped the lock and drew open the door. Her heart stuttered in her chest, terror clawing it’s way up her throat. She didn’t recognize this man. But then he lifted his head, and the hood he wore shifted back, revealing the Knight-Captain. His curls disheveled beneath the hood and he looked so normal. “You look ridiculous,” she said, glancing at him from head to foot and back again.

“You told me not to wear my armor.”

She had, and he’d obeyed. He wore a simple pair of trousers and a plain tunic beneath the hooded cloak. If he had been anyone else, she might have thought he looked shy, maybe a little nervous. Almost cute. Taking a step back, she allowed him inside, then closed the door. Wren watched as he pulled off the cloak, hung it on the peg that was mounted near the door beside her own, and then she realized he had something propped against his leg.

A chair. A wooden chair that folded down. Cullen walked over to the wall where he’d sunk down the day before when she’d snapped at him, opened the chair and sat down. She just stared at him for a very long minute. “What?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Don’t forget our agreement. If anyone comes to the door, you’re hiding in there,” she said, pointing to the small bathroom. “And you will not speak a word of anything you might overhear.”

Cullen held up his hand, then placed it over his heart. “I swear it, serah.” She turned away after a long moment and Cullen let his hand fall into his lap. He followed her with his gaze as she walked to her work table and sunk down onto her knees in front of it, resuming the task he’d apparently interrupted. Pale purple flower petals dropped into the stone mortar in front of her as she carefully pulled them from the stem with slender fingers. She didn’t have her hair restrained today, it fell loose over her shoulders and down her back in tight copper-colored curls. A lock fell forward and he watched her reach up, and tuck it behind a slightly pointed ear.

She was at least half-elf, though she’d adamantly denied it. It was curious, he thought. He was curious about her. Cullen gave himself a mental shake, it didn’t matter. He needed to do the task before him. Find the proof that Templar Morelli was committing crimes, and see that he was arrested. Wren took the pestle in her hand and methodically ground the flowers, adding a pinch of powder from a jar, and what looked like a tiny stone. She worked, intent on her task and he could hear her quietly muttering beneath her breath.

He wondered if she was cursing him. Her dislike of Templars was obvious. She didn’t want him there, in her home. Cullen wasn’t sure how long he sat there, watching her work before someone knocked on the door. She shot him a look and he stood, heading for the narrow door into the bathroom. But then he paused at the quiet sound she made as she planted her hands on the table and pushed.

Cullen didn’t know what was wrong with her if it was from injury or something she’d had her entire life, but he couldn’t imagine that kneeling on the hard ground, even with a pillow beneath her knees, was particularly comfortable. Turning, he was going to go back, to help her, but she was already on her feet, her hand curling around the cane. Wren’s lip curled. “Go,” she snapped and held up his hands, took a step backward, and hid in the bathroom before she went to open the door.

He tried not to listen, really, he did, but even with their low voices, they were loud in the small hovel.

“It’s all I have,” the woman said.

“I know, it’s alright, here, take it.”

“You’re so good to me,” there were tears in the other woman’s voice.

“Hush,” Wren’s voice was gentle, and Cullen leaned against the wall, just listening, knowing that he’d never hear her speak to him so kindly. The two continued speaking for a few minutes before he heard the door opening. “If you see Niko, tell him I have that balm he needed.”

The door closed and Cullen waited for a beat before peeking around the door frame. Wren had her hand pressed to the door and he watched as she slowly began to make her way back to the table. He moved quickly, grabbing the chair, he nudged the small pillow out of the way and set down the chair he’d brought largely to be petty.

Wren’s eyes were wide and she’d taken a step back. Her knuckles were white around the cane. Cullen stilled, his own hands curled around the back of the chair. “Use the chair,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“I don’t want your-”

“My mother would come back from the grave to haunt me if I allowed you to kneel on the floor while I sat comfortably in a chair,” Cullen kept his voice soft, he’d startled her. Wren didn’t trust him and why should she?

“I don’t need your pity,” she hissed.

Shaking his head a little, Cullen stepped back, releasing his grip on the chair. “It isn’t pity,” he told her as he crossed back to the spot against the wall and sunk down onto the floor. “It is courtesy that was instilled in me as a child, that I had apparently forgotten for a time.”

Wren didn’t make any move to sit down in the chair, she just stared at him for a long time and he held her gaze. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she turned away from him, sat down in the chair and the corner of his mouth lifted into the barest hint of a smile. Small victory. She rocked her weight from side to side for a moment, then set back to work.

A handful of people stopped by over the next few hours, and Cullen listened intently each time. Not for information, he could report back to Meredith, but simply because he hadn’t realized quite how bad it was for some of the people in Kirkwall. Most who came seeking out Wren’s tonics or balms or powders, had no money to give her. Most of them had something to trade, but there were a few who had nothing, and still, she’d helped them.

For the most part, Wren seemed to pretend Cullen wasn’t there, and after the third time someone came to the door, she stopped hissing at him to hide, as he hadn’t hesitated once beyond that first time. She spoke to herself, quiet words he couldn’t hear, as she worked and he found he liked the sound of her voice. It was strange, and more than once he chided himself, reminding himself that he was there to do a job. She wouldn’t appreciate any admiration coming from him.

At one point, Wren brewed herself a small pot of tea, cast him a sidelong glance, and there was a moment of hesitation before she continued to ignore him and drank the tea without a word. It had grown dark outside, and it was late by the time Cullen stood again, stretching stiff muscles as he crossed to the door and his cloak. He curled his fingers around the thick fabric and hesitated.

What if Morelli came after Cullen had left? Then what? “Same time tomorrow?” she asked, her voice pulling him from his thoughts.

“Yes,” Cullen said, inspecting the lock that he’d installed for her. She needed more than just that bar of steel that she could fasten from inside. “You’ll be sure to fasten this as soon as I leave?” She didn’t say anything and Cullen chanced a glance over his shoulder at her, the look on her face clearly said she thought he was stupid. “Then I will see you in the morning,” he said and drew on his cloak, opened the door and stepped outside.

He lingered on the front step, not sure exactly what he was waiting for until he heard the sound of the lock sliding home. Somewhat comforted by that little sound, he left, his stomach growling loudly as he walked. Cullen realized he hadn’t eaten since breaking his fast early that morning with a piece of toast. And neither had Wren. His brows drew together in concern, she had food, people seemed to favor trading that for her wares.

Cullen returned to the Chantry, stopped in the kitchens to find something to eat before he packed a small sack for the following day, then he went to his quarters in the barracks. Sleep eluded him that night. His concern over Wren and the possibility that Morelli would show up, hurt her, and he wouldn’t be there kept running through his mind. He wouldn’t let that happen. When morning grew near, he got up, bathed and prepared to spend another day sitting on her floor, waiting for something to happen.

How long though, until she got fed up with his presence? How long until Morelli went after her again? Cullen was grateful for morning growing closer, abandoned his attempt to sleep and got ready for the day before heading back out to that little house on the edge of Darktown. The door seemed intact, and when it opened just a few moments after he knocked, revealing Wren on the other side, her only annoyance his presence, a strange sensation of relief coursed through him.

The day went mostly the same, Cullen slipping off to the privy whenever anyone knocked, while Wren did everything she could to help these people. Around mid-day, Cullen pulled out the small pack he’d made the night before, inside there was dried meat, cheese, a loaf of bread and a few soft sweet plums. “You’ve been working for hours, why don’t you join me for lunch, I brought plenty,” he offered as he laid the contents out on the now empty bag.

“I’m busy,” she said, barely glancing at him.

“You didn’t eat at all yesterday while I was here, come now, serah, I know that you are not pleased with this arrangement, so at least allow me to do this small thing for you, to repay you for helping me.”

Wren sat back in the chair, her hands in her lap as she looked at him for a long moment. Then finally, she stood, crossed over to where he sat against the wall and sat as far from him as she could, while still being close enough to reach the meal he’d laid out for them. They ate the meal in silence, and when they finished, Wren stood, walked back to her table and went back to ignoring him.

The next several days proceeded much the same. Wren worked, ignored him, but he brought something to eat mid-day, she would sit near him, still ignoring him before returning to her tasks. Cullen found that he enjoyed watching the way she worked, the practiced movement of her hands, almost like a dance over bottles and pouches as she created things that helped people, even though they didn’t pay her.

“I need to go to the market,” she said, sitting back in the chair with a sigh. Wren glanced at him with a frown. “You aren’t coming with me,” she said, pushing up to her feet. She quickly twisted her hair back into a braid and Cullen watched as she wrapped the scarf around her head, concealing the tips of her ears.

Getting to his feet, he shook his head at her. “Yes, I am.”

“You aren’t inconspicuous, Knight-Captain. I don’t want you tagging along, frightening people.”

“I don’t-”

She shot him a look and rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do.” She picked up her bag and draped it across her chest before curling her fingers around her cane. “You’ll wait here until I return.”

“And if something happens? If Morelli corners you on your way back here?” She swallowed and she didn’t look well suddenly.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” she hissed at Cullen. “Fine,” Wren snapped. “But you will wear that cloak and you will not speak to anyone.”

Cullen knew it wasn’t fair to use her fear of Morelli against her like that. But if it kept her safe, Cullen would gladly accept her hate of him.


	6. Chapter 6

Wren knew that it would come back to bite her on the ass. How long could she continue to treat the Templar with such disdain before he lashed out at her? She’d had enough run-ins with Templars to know that inevitably he would. The fact that he hadn’t yet surprised her and should have been a warning she thought, but it didn’t stop her from sneering at him and looking down her nose at him, despite the fact that he towered over her.

The Knight-Captain barely even reacted to her attempts to provoke a reaction from him. Even the day before, when after having spent well over an hour in the market district, as she had for the last few days, the second they’d walked into her house, she’d suddenly ‘ _remembered_ ’ something and they’d had to return to the market immediately. Of course, then she’d had to buy something. It had been small and petty and she regretted it now because her lower back ached and she could feel the slight tremors of pain shooting down into her legs.

Cullen had continued to bring new things into her home nearly every day. Things she was sure he’d make a production of taking with him after everything was said and done. But now there was a table and two chairs against the wall where he spent his day, watching her. It didn’t unnerve her as much as she thought it should, the way he watched. Wren imagined he was waiting for her to start casting spells or something. He’d bring a mid-day meal every day, insist she join him. She didn’t mind that so much either, because Wren knew she did have a tendency to forget to stop and eat until the hour grew late and her stomach rumbled in protest.

It was always something simple, likely scrounged up from the kitchens in the Chantry. It had been a long time since anyone had done something like that for her. Years since Lanasa had walked into the woods, her back stooped, leaning heavily on her cane and never returned. Absently, she reached up to rub at the ache in the center of her chest. Lanasa had taught her everything she knew about plants and medicines and magiks. Raised her to be everything she was. She missed her so much.

Wren didn’t like that she’d grown accustomed to the Templar in her living space. Had accepted his presence and could so easily forget he was there. When Templars were the ones responsible for her mother’s death. She shut her eyes at the memory. Bitter and painful and so vivid.

_The starburst brand on her forehead, framed by now raggedly short, cropped deep brown curls. Tears on Lanasa’s cheeks as she pressed the vial into Mamae’s hand. “Drink this, my love.” Mamae had looked at her, eyes vacant with none of the love and warmth that always sparkled there. “Drink up and everything will be better,” Lana wept and Mamae carefully uncorked the little glass bottle, tipped it up to her lips and drank._

_Lanasa caught her as her knees gave way and gently lowered her to the ground. “Wren,” it was a rasp of sound, Mamae’s eyes catching her’s and for a moment, she was Mamae again. Eyes overflowing with love and tears. “Love,” she rasped then angled her head up, met Lana’s eyes. “Love,” she repeated._

Wren felt hot tears coarse down her cheeks and she quickly dashed them away. No, she would not allow herself to soften toward the curly-haired Knight-Captain, no matter what.

It was a few minutes later when she heard the knock on the door. “It’s unlocked,” she called, not wanting to get up from the chair at her work table. There was a moments pause and then the door opened and she glanced up, saw the Knight-Captain, a deep frown etching his features.

“Wren,” he said and she knew he was going to warn her about leaving the door unlocked.

“I need you to go to the market,” she cut him off. “There is a list there,” she jerked her chin to the scrap of paper on the edge of the table. There was a beat of silence and then she saw him pick up the paper from the corner of her eye and he still wore that frown.

“We’ve gone to the market every day this week already. Sending me defeats the purpose of my being here.”

Wren waved her hand dismissively. “Just do it, would you? I just want five minutes of peace,” she heard the crack in her voice and winced, angling her head away. “Please,” she forced out the word, hated to say it. Too much like begging. “There are a few people coming by early this morning to pick up some things, I need to be here, but I need those ingredients.”

“And if Morelli decides to stop by?” Cullen asked and Wren grit her teeth.

“Then I guess I’ll deal with that when it happens,” she bit out the words. “Did you stop and think for maybe just a minute that I don’t like having a _Templar_ in my home? That I just want to be _left alone_?”

He continued to frown at her for another long moment. “Alright,” he spoke quietly and inclined his head. “Is there anything else you want me to pick up while I am out?”

“No,” she bit out the word and waited. Another short hesitation and then he was gone. Wren sagged, pressed her face into her hands and just tried to breathe past the ache in her chest. She hadn’t dwelled on the memories in a long time.

By the time Molly arrived to pick up the sleeping tonics Wren had managed to compose herself. Then she kept herself busy, pulling together what she’d need to make the salve she planned to rub into her aching back later. A knock at the door and she looked up. “Come in,” she called.

The door opened slowly and Wren’s throat felt tight. What if it was Morelli? Her fingers curled around the small knife that would do little to protect herself if it were him. But instead, a tall lanky man stood there, shoulders hunched, cheeks hollow. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Need...” his eyes darted around as he stepped inside, closed the door. “You have black lotus,” his voice was raspy and she noticed the tremors in his hands.

Slowly, Wren pushed up to her feet, careful not to take her eyes off the man in front of her. She hadn’t seen many people addicted to anything beyond alcohol. But she knew, black lotus, prepared just right, offered a brain-numbing high. “No,” she said with a little shake of her head. “I don’t.” It was a lie. Of course, she had black lotus, but she couldn’t let this man know that. “I’m sorry, it isn’t something I work with.”

“I don’t believe you!” he snarled and she watched him pull out a short knife from she had no idea where, as he advanced on her. “Give it to me!”

Wren held up her hands, placating. “What’s your name? I’ve seen you before, down by the docks, tell me your name? I’m Wren,” she kept her voice steady, though inside she was quaking, absolutely terrified.

He jerked his head, looking around again. “You alone here?”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “What’s your name?”

“Andre,” he answered, blinked, then held the knife up higher. “You have it. You have to have it.”

“Andre,” Wren said. “Look, I don’t have any, but I have something else,” she reached for the table, breaking her gaze away from him for just a moment. He lurched forward, the knife pressed against her stomach.

“I want the black lotus,” he ground out.

“Andre,” Wren’s voice stayed steady as she stood frozen, one hand extended toward the table, the other hovering over his chest. “Please, be calm, it’s okay.”

The door opened suddenly, Cullen stood there, a small bag in hand and he stared hard at the scene before him. Wren knew that he couldn’t see the knife from the angle they were standing. “Templar,” Andre’s snarled and she felt the knife press harder against her soft flesh, a slight stinging pain.

“He’s a friend,” Wren said in a rush. “It’s okay, he’s a friend of mine, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell anyone about what happens here.” She shot Cullen a look and then slowly continued to reach for the bottle on the table. “Now, Andre,” she said, trying to draw the man’s attention back to her and off Cullen who still stood in the doorway, watching. “I don’t have what you wanted, but this, this will help you.”

Andre looked back at her and she pressed the bottle into his free hand while she covered his other hand with hers and squeezed. “It’ll help. You’ll need to take it every night, take it with food. Here,” she stepped backward, tugging the knife from his surprised fingers as she did, where she tucked it away in the folds of her skirt. Wren turned, ignored the protest of her back and legs as she crouched down, pulled out a small loaf of bread, and a few of the bigger carrots. “It isn’t much,” Wren told him, standing again. “But it will help. It is enough to last two weeks. Come back then, and I’ll give you another bottle of it. You have to take it with food, you hear me?”

The man blinked, still seeming to try and catch up with what had just happened. “Take it,” Wren said, pressing the food into his other hand. “Go on, don’t go back down to the docks.”

Andre took a step back, looked down at the things in his hands, then over at Cullen then back at Wren. “I-”

“Two weeks. Promise me.”

“Two weeks,” he echoed quietly and then ducked his head and turned for the door. Cullen didn’t move, and Wren grit her teeth.

“Cullen,” she said, her voice sharp. “Let him pass.” She’d surprised him too, by speaking his name. He obeyed, Andre left and Cullen closed the door behind him before turning molten gold eyes on her.

“Are you completely daft?!” he all but shouted.

For a moment, Wren was torn between shouting back at him and shocked silence at the outburst. But then her back twinged and she sunk heavily back into the chair. “Did you get all the things on my list?” she asked, holding out a hand.

Cullen stalked across the room, dropped the bag on the table and she blinked up at him when he wrapped one hand around the back of her chair, shoved, spinning it almost like a top until it faced him and he planted his other hand on the table, caging her in. “Are. You. Daft.”

It was interesting, she thought, the way his eyes flashed. He was always so calm, no matter how she’d poked at him. “No, I am not,” Wren told him, her voice low.

“That man-” he snarled, glanced over his shoulder, turned, went back to the door, flipped the lock and then he advanced on her again, hand on the table and the chair. In the back of her mind, Wren knew she should be afraid, but she couldn’t muster the fear. Not the throat clogging terror she’d felt earlier when Andre had first stepped into her home. “Is an addict. Leaving your door unlocked, letting people come and go as they please-”

“A locked door isn’t going to keep out someone who wants to do me harm,” she said quietly. “You saw that well enough yourself.”

Cullen let out a hiss of breath and stepped back. He ran his hands through his hair as he began pacing the room. “He could have hurt you,” he said and when his back was to her, Wren covered the stinging pain on her side. No blood on her fingers, so it likely was little more than a scratch, but she’d have to clean it well, knowing the knife was likely filthy. “I should have been here.”

“I’ve managed twenty-five years on my own without you, Knight-Captain. And once you get your man, I’ll go back to being on my own.”

“You’re an idiot!” he spat, whirling around on her again.

Wren raised her brows. “You’re going to want to take that back,” she told him, her voice soft and serious.

“What did you give him?” Cullen asked, changing the subject.

Slowly, Wren pushed up to her feet. “Something to help with the withdrawal. It helps with the aches and the pains and the nausea.” Crossing the room toward him, slow and steady. “Now, take it back. I am not an idiot.”

He scoffed. “You are. You help all these people. Give them tonics and potions and medicines they can’t pay you for. Some trade with worthless trinkets, at least the food you can eat. When you aren’t giving it to the other people! Keep this up and you’ll be nothing more than a whore back at the Rose again.”

Wren slapped him. A hard blow across the cheek that left a bright pink welt and the sound of it echoed in the room and the silence that followed. “Take. It. Back.” Wren said through gritted teeth. “I did what I had to, to survive. I was alone! Because of you fucking Templars!” She shoved at his chest hard enough that he took a step back. “Yes! I help people, whether they can pay or not! Because I can! I will always help people so long as I can! If I can spare anyone even a moment of grief or pain I will do it!” She shouted at him, angry tears burning her eyes.

“And if I have to go back, as you so bluntly put it, to whoring myself out, I will.” Wren shoved at his chest again, a half step back.

“I apologize,” Cullen’s voice was soft as he looked at her, all the heated anger was gone from his eyes and she could see the regret there now, but she didn’t care.

“Fuck you,” Wren spat, shoved him again, then turned and walked back to her table. She was shaking with rage as she dug into the bag, yanked out the things he’d bought, and angrily began working. A small paper bag tumbled out and she frowned. It wasn’t on her list. “What is this?”

Cullen walked over to the table against the wall and sat down in his usual spot. “It’s for you. I suspected that you might be a bit sore after our many trips to the market this week, asked Alaros what would help. You should be happy to know, he charged me double for it.”

Wren deflated. All the rage and fury just evaporated as she stared at the little flowers. “Why?” she asked, her voice quiet.

There was a long pause before Cullen spoke. “I can’t say that I am as altruistic as you are. But, now and then, I remember to be kind.”


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen watched Wren from where he sat at the table. She was angry with him and he knew she had every right to be. He’d been out of line. So far out of line. The heat that radiated from the handprint on his cheek stung. He had more than deserved it. It didn’t matter that the words were born of worry and concern for her. Wren loathed him and wouldn’t care that he had grown strangely fond of her.

Leaving her earlier had been a test of wills. It defeated the entire purpose of him being there. But there had been grief in her eyes, so he’d ignored the knot in the pit of his stomach and gone to the market. To return and find that man standing over her. His reaction had been… unexpected. His fear for Wren had him lashing out at her.

And perhaps, it had something to do with the conversation he’d had with Knight-Commander Meredith the night before upon his return to the barracks. _“It is my understanding,”_ she’d said. “ _That Templar Morelli has not returned to the barracks, that no one has seen him since you requested leave from your regular duties to further this investigation._ ” It was a truth Cullen had been reluctant to admit to. “ _You have one week. If in that time you’ve made no progress in finding him, you will return to your regular duties, have I made myself clear, Knight-Captain?_ ”

One week. He had one week to find Morelli. One week until his days spent watching Wren work ended and she was on her own once again. One week until he no longer had a reason to check in on her and make sure that she was okay because if he told her that he was abandoning her to whatever fate she might meet at the hands of Morelli, Cullen knew she’d hate him even more. Morelli was supposed to pay for his crimes, and if he didn’t, well, it would be unforgivable. One more reason for her to hate the Templars.

Cullen liked the quiet of the time with her. She worked and it was obvious she enjoyed it and was good at it. It was a strange kind of peaceful. Wren hated him, had no qualms about sneering at him, or intentionally trying to provoke him, and he enjoyed every second of it. After what had happened at Kinloch Hold, Cullen struggled on a day to day basis. The nightmares, the memories relived. It scared him, what mages were capable of. What they could turn to and how they’d nearly broken him. Would have broken him had the Hero of Ferelden not arrived when they did.

He had, for a time, considered leaving the Order. Unsure he could continue on in such close quarters with Mages. But then he’d set himself to it. He had to protect people from the dangers of Magic, and what Mages could so easily become. Still, sometimes he wondered if he had made the right choice.

Eventually, Cullen put together a plate of food for Wren and crossed the room to set it on the edge of her work table, knowing her well enough that she would not be joining him today. Maybe never again for that matter. Glancing down at her he frowned, noticing a red stain on the pale linen blouse she wore. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

“Shit,” Wren hissed, looked down and quickly covered it with her hand. Without thinking, Cullen went to his knees beside her and pushed her hand away. “Hey!” she slapped at his hands but Cullen ignored her, saw the small slice in the fabric, the thin shallow cut along her side.

“What is this?” he asked, brows knitting together as he tugged up the hem of her shirt to get a better look at it. Glancing up at her he noticed she was looking straight ahead, her jaw was clenched and her hands were curled around the edge of the table. “That man-” Cullen realized and bile burned the back of his throat.

“Shut. Up,” she ground out between clenched teeth.

He replayed the scene in his mind, trying to figure out when the man might have done this. When Cullen had first walked in, they’d been standing so close, he hadn’t been able to see their hands. Would that man have stabbed her? Left her for dead? “At least let me clean it up and bandage it for you,” Cullen spoke quietly. He had basic training, a requirement within the Templars.

“I don’t need your help.”

“So you’ll just sit here and let it fester to spite me?” Wren didn’t respond, but he heard her teeth grind together. He had watched her enough to know where all of her various supplies were, granted, he didn’t know what all of them were for, but he knew what he’d need. Found it and went back down to his knees beside her. She hadn’t moved. Cullen hesitated for a moment. “I know that you hate Templars, that you hate me, but-” he frowned, not sure where he’d been going with those words. Picking up one of the bottles, he tipped the liquid out onto a clean piece of linen before using one hand to lift her shirt again. “I’m sorry for it.” Dabbing at the slice, Wren tensed and let out a hiss of breath but otherwise didn’t react.

Cullen cleaned the small injury, was glad it didn’t need stitches. Picking up the roll of bandage he moved to begin wrapping it around her but she finally reacted, brushed his hand away. “No,” she said and leaned forward, plucked up a bottle from the back of the table. “Cut off a piece just big enough to cover it,” she instructed and Cullen obeyed, watching her. “Soak it with this. The whole thing.”

It was thick and sticky and strange. “Now what?” he asked her.

“Cover the cut with it, just hold down the edges though, you have to hold it down till it dries or it won’t stick. I can-” she reached back with one hand, but Cullen brushed her away again.

“I’ve got it.” He lined up the length of fabric, pressed it against her side and as she’d instructed, kept his thumbs pressed against either end, his hands curling around her waist. Heat flushed his cheeks at the sudden realization of the intimacy of the touch. He’d been so focused on the task at hand, that he hadn’t acknowledged the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers, but now, as his palms rested gently against her skin it was all he could focus on.

The seconds dragged on and neither of them moved. Wren’s hands rested on the table, her breathing deliberately slow and even while Cullen knelt, memorizing the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. His heart was pounding in his chest so loud he was sure Wren could hear it. Maker, but he was a fool. He should have just let her hold it down and retreated back to the other side of the room where he belonged.

Cullen had never laid his hands on a woman, in any way other than sparring with fellow Templars. He found his mind wandering, wondering what it would be like to run his hands along the curves of her body. To explore the softness of her. Perhaps to even put his mouth on her.

Shutting down the thoughts quickly, he blinked several times, stared at the bandage that he could see it lightening in shade as it dried. Wren would never allow him, a Templar, to touch her in such a way. And he imagined, if she knew where his thoughts had gone, she’d throw him out and quite possibly beat him with her cane.

Forcing himself to block the inappropriate thoughts, time ticked by, the bandage slowly dried. “Good?” he asked, looking up at her.

Wren let out a slow breath and then she looked down and nodded. “Careful,” she said, and then covered his hands with her own. “Slow so it doesn’t pull up the edges.” Her hands were soft over his, but he felt the callouses of a working life on her palms. He let her guide his hands away and missed the heat of her. Cullen dragged his gloves back on and then cleaned up the supplies he’d used.

“You should eat,” he said, inclining his head to the plate that sat forgotten on her table before he walked back over to the table. As the day grew late, a few people stopped by and Cullen waited in the small bathroom as usual, as he tried to sort out the best way to tell Wren that if he didn’t track down Morelli by the end of the week, he was done. She’d be grateful for the latter, he knew. No longer having a Templar lurking in her home.

Gathering his cloak, Cullen was still trying to find the words when there was a frantic pounding on the door. “Serah! Wren! Come quick!” The voice sounded young, Wren was halfway to the door when Cullen yanked it open.

A boy, no older than eight stared up at him, eyes wide, then they darted past, found Wren. “It’s Mathari!” Tears streamed down the boy's cheeks. “She was attacked. She-” he sobbed. “Come quick! Please!”

Wren grabbed her cane and Cullen tugged her cloak from the hook by the door, tugged it around her shoulders and then the three of them hurried into the dark streets. Cullen could see the stiffness in Wren’s movements. She’d never used whatever it was that he’d bought for her to help ease the pain. And after a long day of sitting at her work table, he could see the frustration on her face as she struggled to keep pace with the young boy. They descended into Darktown, made their way through narrow paths to an open door.

Wren followed Tamcen into the house, was immediately struck by the smell of blood. Winding through the cluttered space to the kitchen in the back, her heart lodged in her throat. Mathari, the girl in her young teens lay on the kitchen table and there was so much blood. “Please, help my baby,” Shava, the children’s mother begged.

The room swam around her for a moment. Wren felt Cullen come up beside her, hiss out a breath. “I-” Grabbing Shava’s arm, she turned her slightly, stepped away from Cullen. “Anders. You need Anders for this,” she kept her voice low.

“He’s been gone with Hawke for two weeks,” the woman said, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

Wren looked back at the girl on the table and drew herself up straighter. “Boil water. I need…” she nudged Shava to the stove. “I need boiling water.” Stripping off her cloak she ignored the throbbing in her lower back, the sharp pangs that shot down her legs and rested one knee on the bench beside the table. “I need...”

“Write out a list,” Cullen moved to stand beside her once again. “Write a list of what you need and I’ll go fetch it.”

She looked up at him startled. “Why would-”

“Write it down,” he repeated. “If it isn’t labeled, describe it. I know you have that entire table memorize.”

She stared at him for a long second, then heard Mathari whimper, turn her head, try to move. “I need paper,” she said quickly. “Something to write with.”


	8. Chapter 8

Wren sent Cullen off with her list and a plea to hurry. She hoped it wasn’t a mistake and that he actually could get everything she needed. Most of her bottles were labeled, so that would help. But it was terrifying to have to trust him in this. Mathari stirred, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes the girl tried to move. “No,” Wren said quickly and smacked her knee against the edge of the bench as she scrambled up onto it. “No, Mathari, Mathari, don’t move, sweetheart.”

Carefully resting her hands on either side of the girl’s head, avoiding the slashes over her cheeks. “Mathari, look at me, honey, listen to me.”

“Hurts,” she choked out on a sob, still trying to move.

“Mathari, listen,” and Wren drew in a breath and rubbed a finger along the length of the girl’s ear. “Listen to me, Mathari, breathe with me. In,” she drew in a slow breath, counting it in her head, her own teal eyes locked on the Mathari’s pale brown ones. “Out.” She let out the breath and repeated it several times until finally, Mathari seemed to focus on it. “I know it hurts, love. I know. But I’m going to fix it, I’m going to make it all better.”

Distantly, Wren heard the door, Cullen’s voice, but she didn’t look up. “Is the water boiling?” she asked, not breaking Mathari’s stare.

“Yes,” Cullen told her.  
“Good, I need you to take that little envelope you picked up earlier, and pour half of it into a teacup. Almost, Mathari, just hold on for me, I know you’re scared, but you’re safe.” She heard the sound of glass clinking, then Cullen’s voice telling her he’d done as she said. “Crush it up as finely as you can, use a spoon or something, mash it up and then you have to move quickly. Pour just a little bit of the boiling water it, just a sip. Mathari, it will be hot, but I promise, once you drink it’ll be so much better. Trust me, it’s worth the scalded tongue.”

Cullen was at her elbow a moment later and Mathari looked up, flinched. “Shhh,” Wren crooned gently. “It’s okay. He’s okay. He’s going to help. Cullen isn’t going to hurt you, Mathari, would I let anyone near you that would hurt you?”

Mathari blinked several times. “Good girl, now drink this.” Wren cupped the back of the girl’s head but didn’t have the leverage to help her lift it.

Cullen’s hand slid over Wren’s at the back of Mathari’s neck. “I’ve got it,” he told her, she let him and relinquished the teacup to him as well. Wren leaned back, saw the leather satchel on the bench beside her and fished through it. Cullen’s voice was gentle and when Wren glanced up, the cup was empty beside Mathari’s head and one of Cullen’s hands was still resting against her head, his fingers stroking her bloody and matted hair.

“Mathari,” Cullen said softly after she had made another pained sound. “It’ll be okay, Wren knows what she is doing, she’ll take care of you,” he sounded so sure and so kind that Wren glanced up again for a moment before digging through the bottles and finding what she wanted. “I know you’re in pain, here, can you-” she watched as Cullen slid his hand down the table, fingers skimming her arm. “Give me your hand, if you can.” After a moments hesitation, Mathari did just that, belt her elbow and reached up to allow Cullen to wrap her fingers around his. “You just squeeze, alright? Squeeze as hard as you can, I’m not going anywhere.”

Wren watched Mathari’s knuckles go white as she held on, Cullen winced and smiled down at her. “Just like that,” he said, and Wren felt some in her chest go taught at the tenderness in Cullen’s tone. When he looked up and met her gaze she was frozen for a moment. Then she shook herself from her stupor and moved to kneel beside Mathari’s head once again.

“Alright, sweetheart, just breathe.” Tipping a few drops from the bottle onto the cloth, Wren draped it over Mathari’s nose and mouth. “Just sleep, a little nap and when you wake up it’ll be better.” Wren leaned down, touched a finger to Mathari’s temple. “Just a little nap. Breathe with me, like earlier, in and out.”

She watched as Mathari’s eyes drooped and then slipped shut. After waiting another long moment, she removed the cloth and looked up to find her face very close to Cullen’s. “If she starts to stir, she starts squeezing your hand again, add another drop or two, cover her mouth with it and let her just take in a few breaths. I don’t like using it, but this is going to hurt and I’d rather her not be awake and suffer any more than she already has.” Wren kept her voice low and Cullen nodded.

Cullen watched Wren as she stepped away from the table, used the still scalding water to scrub her hands, and the small knives and other tools before she returned to kneel on the bench and then she set to work. Wren was meticulous and Cullen was in awe of her. The gash on Mathari’s belly was the worst injury so Wren started with that. Cutting away the girl’s clothing, sparing a moment to drape the hand towels her mother had left earlier before Wren ordered her out of the room, over the girl’s chest and hips to keep her modesty.

She stitched and sewed and muttered quietly to herself. Cullen heard the name Anders more than once and knew it shouldn’t surprise him that Wren knew of the apostate living in Darktown. Hours seemed to pass as Wren worked and Cullen did as she said, held Mathari’s hand and each time she began to surface, he used the cloth to ease her back into what he hoped was a peaceful sleep. Wren barely moved, everything she needed within reach, when she finished the last tiny stitch on Mathari’s cheek, Cullen could see the exhaustion weighing on her.

“All done,” she breathed with a sigh of relief. “Cullen, could you-” she gestured to the bag. “I need the bandages.” Cullen untangled his fingers from Mathari’s and gave her temple a last tender stroke before moving to the bag where he pulled out the ointment and the bandages and the bottle of the sticky solution she’d used earlier on her own cut.

Once she was focused on bandaging the wounds on Mathari’s face, Cullen walked into the kitchen. A tea kettle sat on the stove, and he knew a neighbor, a friend of the mother, had been keeping her and Mathari’s brother in the main room and only coming back to get them tea. Now he found a teacup, filled it and walked back to where Wren knelt. “Wren,” he said softly.

“What?” she snapped, head bent low, intent on her task.

“Wren,” he repeated and she looked up, glowering at him. “I can finish that, take a moment, drink this.” He held the teacup out to her and she stared at it dumbly for several long moments. “It’s been hours, Wren. Take a second to breathe. I can finish bandaging her.”

“Oh,” Wren breathed out her reply. “I-” she shifted back, Cullen watched her leg straighten, her foot touched the ground, but the moment she put pressure on it, it buckled beneath her. He caught her easily, steadied her. “Shit,” Wren cursed quietly, one hand gripping the table, the other curled around his arm.

A rocking chair sat in the corner of the room and without a word, once Cullen knew Wren was steady, crossed to it, dragged it over and pressed it up against the back of her legs until she had no choice but to sit. “If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d have a few choice words for you, Knight-Captain,” she said as he handed her the teacup.

“You’ll be sure to tell me as soon as they come to you, I know.” Then he turned back to Mathari and continued where Wren had left off. It surprised him that Wren hadn’t spent the entire time criticizing everything he did, but once finished with his task, he looked over and found Wren’s elbow resting on the arm of the chair, her cheek propped against her palm and her eyes shut.

He stood there for a moment, watching her, then quietly slipped into the living space and found Shava pacing the floor. She stopped when Cullen walked in. “My baby-my baby-” Tears streamed down the woman’s cheeks.

“Wren’s done everything she can,” he told her, though he knew, if Wren could, she’d do more. “I can carry Mathari to her room, if you’d like, I’m sure she’d be more comfortable in her bed.”

Shava nodded. “Yes, yes, please, you’ll-” she hesitated, then nodded.

Cullen was very careful not to shift the towels and very aware of her injuries as he lifted Mathari into his arms. He cradled her against his chest and followed Shava down the short, narrow hallway where she pushed open the door and ushered him in. Laying Mathari down, he found himself hesitating for a moment, stroking a hand over the top of her head he said a silent prayer to the Maker to watch over her.

Shava fussed for a minute, draping a light sheet over the girl before she followed Cullen out of the room. The girl’s brother, Tamcen slipped in and Cullen caught sight of him crouching down beside the bed where he carefully took her hand into his. “I can’t repay her,” Shava said as they stepped back into the dining space where Wren still slept.

“She wouldn’t want you to,” Cullen said.

“Will my baby be okay?”

Cullen wished he could reassure the woman, but he sighed quietly. “I don’t know.” Her injuries had been brutal. She’d lost a lot of blood, and there was always the chance of infection. He began cleaning up the mess of bloodied rags and tucking Wren’s supplies back into the satchel when Shava waved him away.

“I’ll clean that up, you take her home to rest,” she told him with a nod to the rocking chair.

Hesitating for a moment, Cullen knelt in front of Wren and gently shook her shoulder. “Wren, wake up.” No response save for a quiet snore. He tried again, a little louder, a little sharper, but still, nothing. “Oh, she’s going to hate me for this,” he said and straightened back up. “I’m sure Wren will want to come by in the morning to see how Mathari is. I’ll collect that,” he nodded to the satchel, “then.” He gave her a quick explaination of how to give Mathari the medicine for the pain, and then after one more failed attempt to wake Wren, he gathered her into his arms and carried her home.

She didn’t so much as stir as he walked, despite the cool air. It took careful maneuvering to unlock her door and he cursed quietly at the utter blackness of the room. Leaving the door open a crack, he walked in and knelt beside her bed, or what she called a bed. The simple pallet of a few too thin blankets and a too-thin mattress. Cullen laid Wren down and then shifted to begin unlacing her boots.

Wren felt a hand on her calf. Warm and calloused and panic wrapped a fist around her throat. “No!” she tried to scream, but it came out a strangled croak, she jerked, kicked and the pain that shot up her leg and through her back was blinding.

A quiet curse, then a voice, familiar, and strangely muffled as Wren scrambled to sit up. “Wren, Wren it’s Cullen. I was just taking off your boots.” Blinking several times, Wren’s eyes shifted and adjusted to the dark and she saw Cullen kneeling beside her feet, his hands held up where she could see them, with blood trickling down from his nose and mouth. It took a long time for her brain to catch up.

“Mathari!” she jerked, gasped in pain and saw Cullen start to reach for her, before thinking better of it and jerking back.

“You fell asleep. You finished and I finished the bandages and then Shava had me take her to her room. I tried to wake you up, but you didn’t so much as twitch.” She watched him as he watched her. “I have never seen an elf’s eyes do that before, like a cat,” Cullen said absently and Wren blinked, startled. “I had only meant to take off your boots so you might sleep better. I apologize.”

Wren reached over for the lamp beside her bed and lit it and the room filled with a soft yellow glow. “You could have left me there.”

“I thought you’d sleep better in your own bed.”

“The infection will kill her,” Wren said and it hurt to say, but it was true. The likelihood of infection was high, and if Anders didn’t return soon, there would be no chance for the young girl.

Cullen finally let his hands drop. He fished out a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood on his face. “Don’t you have… something?”

“Nothing that would be strong enough. I could get what I needed, but it takes time to make, too long.” Wren felt her jaw tremble and shook her head. “Mathari’s strong,” she said absently and leaned forward, intending on unlacing her boots but the pain that shot up her back had her collapsing back onto the bed, sudden tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“Wren?” Cullen’s voice was cautious. “Let me help. I could get that medicine I got you earlier.”

“No, it’s fine. Mathari will need it more. I’m fine. I’m-” her breathing was ragged. “Unlace my boots?” she asked and after a moment she felt Cullen’s hand on her calf again, just below her knee. He unlaced the boot and carefully pulled them off and she heard them both land with a quiet thump on the wooden floor. “There is a salve…” she pointed to her work table, told him where to find it. “Grab a chair,” Wren added and he did before returning to her with a frown. “I would be… grateful, if you could-” the words caught in her throat. She’d had a few people at the Blooming Rose, that she had considered somewhat friends. Ones who had been able to help her like this when the pain was the worst. But this was-

“Whatever you need me to do, Wren,” Cullen told her and she opened her eyes, peered up at him and sighed. She had kicked him in the face and still, he was willing to help her. It took effort to sit up, and she grabbed onto the chair, then rested her elbows on the seat and shifted up onto her knees once again. It hurt, but it was the easiest way she knew from experience.

“Rub the salve into my lower back.” With one hand she reached back and tugged up the hem of her shirt, and then loosened the ties of her trousers and pushed them down just past her hips. Wren waited. Held her breath and closed her eyes and then she heard the shift of movement as Cullen knelt, his knees straddling her ankles. “Press hard.”

The ceramic lid rattled as Cullen set it down on the floor and the scent of the salve filled the air. Medicinal and minty and Wren sucked in a breath when slick fingertips touched her spine. “Okay?” Cullen asked quietly, his hand pulling away.

“It’s cold,” she explained. “It’s fine. Please, just-” she broke off when his hand returned, smearing the salve on her skin. “You have to-” the words vanished when she felt his thumb rub along the edge of her spine. Cullen was careful in his touch. Too gentle. “Harder,” she said and after a moment, his other hand joined and she felt his thumbs on a particularly painful spot. The strangled cry that escaped her had her clamping a hand over her mouth as her cheeks burned red. Cullen’s hands froze once more.

“Wren?” his voice sounded choked.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, and if perhaps it sounded a bit obscene, she didn’t particularly care. Neither Jethan nor Lily had been strong enough to knead the knots out of her back and it had been months since she’d last had someone to do this for her. But Cullen’s hands were big and strong and still, so gentle. Normally she’d have shucked off her modesty and stripped out of her pants to allow Jethan or Lily to work the salve all the way down her legs, but that wasn’t something she was willing to do with Cullen.

Cullen remained quiet for a long time while he worked, rubbing and kneading and seeming to listen to each sound she made. “Was it an injury?” Cullen asked after a while. “Or were you born with this ailment?”

Wren blinked, angled her head and peered over her shoulder at Cullen. He was intent on his task and she would be happy for him to never stop. “It’s a long story,” she murmured.

He looked up at her, met her gaze. “I don’t have anywhere else to be,” he told her and she looked away. Turned her head so that she rested her chin on the back of her hand.

“My mother,” she started quietly. “Was a servant in a rich man’s house. She was beautiful. Naturally, he bedded her. When she got with child, he didn’t mind and he’d convinced her that everything would be fine. She’d have the baby, and that baby would be given everything. Did you know, there is a rumor that a child of a human and an elf will have entirely human features?”

“I believe I’ve heard that somewhere,” Cullen murmured and Wren chuckled.

“Well, it’s a lie.” She reached up, fingered the curve of the top of her ear. It wasn’t as long as the ears of the city elves, or the Dalish, but it definitely was not human. “He was not pleased. Then to find out that I was a girl and not a boy...” Wren trailed off. Her mother had told her the story not long before she’d been taken and part of her wished she’d never known. But it had taught her to be wary. “He picked me up out of the midwife’s arms, looked at me, and then like a child, unhappy with a toy, tossed me aside. He told the midwife to have me either killed or dropped in the alienage and inform my mother the child had been lost. But instead, she bundled me and my mother up and snuck us out. I didn’t walk until I was four and some days are worse than others.”


	9. Chapter 9

Cullen continued to knead the muscles in Wren’s lower back until his fingers ached, and still, he kept going. She’d gone lax beneath his hands, all but melted over the seat of the chair, her head pillowed on her arm, her eyes closed. He could tell she was exhausted. Helping Mathari had taken so much out of her. It made him worry, even more than he already did. She had gone quiet after her quiet tale. The idea that anyone would be so cruel, especially to their own child, had his blood boiling. He wanted to demand more information. Who exactly was this man and where was he? But Cullen knew Wren wouldn’t tell him any more than she already had.

“Wren,” he said gently and heard her make a quiet, questioning humming sound. “You’re exhausted, lay down and sleep.”

“Hm? What? Oh,” she blinked and sat upright once again, but swayed. Cullen helped her stretch out and saw the grimace of pain cross her face as her lower back twisted. Surely, there had to be something that would help her. Some way he could help her.

Reaching down, he dragged the thin blanket up over her, hesitated. “Good? Need anything?”

Wren grunted quietly, mumbled something as she tucked her hands up beneath her chin and curled on her side. Then her brow pinched together and she cracked open one eye, then the other. “Lock the door. Take the key and just lock it. I can’t-”

“I’ve got it,” he reassured her. “Get some rest, I’ll be back in the morning.” She watched him for a moment, her eyes inky dark in the dim lamplight, then they drooped shut and Cullen waited for a moment before pushing up to his feet. He gathered his cloak, tugged it around his shoulders and then doused the lamp. Familiar with the layout, he crossed the small space easily and found the door after a moment of fumbling.

“Thank you, Cullen.” He hesitated, glanced over his shoulder, unsure if he’d imagined the words.

“Goodnight, Wren,” he said and then slipped through the door and made sure to lock it behind him. Cullen found himself hesitating again. It had been weeks and weeks and there had been no sign of Morelli. He would have to tell her tomorrow and he dreaded it. Sighing, Cullen left the tiny house on the edge of Darktown and returned to the Chantry. He made his way to his own small quarters and found himself pacing restlessly.

Wren was certain that Mathari would die. That an infection would claim her. He’d overheard Anders’ name, they all knew of the mage, but couldn’t lay a hand on him. He was a friend of Garrett Hawke’s. Slipping out of his quarters, Cullen walked down the hallways until he found himself at the infirmary. A handful of the healers were mages, though they were very carefully watched.

“Knight-Captain,” a voice said and Cullen looked over to see an older man, his hair silver and his shoulders hunched. “May I help you?”

Cullen didn’t know this healers name but knew that he wasn’t a mage. “I-” he paused, glanced around. “I was curious. If someone were gravely injured and there was a high risk of infection, what would you give that person?”

The old man’s brows lifted. “Is this merely a hypothetical question? Or is there some mortally wounded soldier out in the hallway?”

“Hypothetical,” he said. “It was a silly curiosity.” Cullen waved his hand dismissively. “Forget I asked.”

After a moment, the man shook his head. “No, there is nothing wrong with learning new things. Someday you may find it useful. Come,” he said, gesturing to the large cabinet up against a wall. He pulled open the doors and Cullen stared at all the neatly labeled bottles and jars inside. “It would depend,” he explained. “On the type of infection, how severe.”

“What if you were trying to prevent an infection from taking.”

“Ah, then, this.” He pulled out first one jar full of a thick dark paste, and then another that looked like tea. “Hard to come by. The salve takes weeks to prepare, the bark from the tree it comes from can only be harvested in the spring. The tea has a mild sedative, a resting body heals faster.” Turning back to the cabinet he continued, lifting jars and bottles as he spoke, but Cullen’s attention was fixated on the two glass jars in front of him. He couldn’t just take them. Could he? No. Of course not.

The Chantry needed them. But, the Chantry could come by the ingredients far easier than Wren. And Mathari’s life was on the line.

“Oh, that reminds me, excuse me, Knight-Captain, I must see to a patient. If you have any interest in learning more, come by again,” he said and then Cullen watched the man make his way down the corridor and vanish through a door in the back. Cullen stared at the forgotten bottles, looked around quickly, and then he snagged both of them and tucked one into either pocket of his trousers before returning to his quarters.

He tucked them into a small satchel and paced the room, raking his hands through his hair. He’d stolen from the Chantry. Mathari needed it, he reminded himself. And maybe, he wanted to prove to Wren, that not all Templars were horrible. It was laughable. She hated him, helping Mathari wouldn’t change that.

Cullen didn’t sleep much, though he tried. He’d almost gone back to Darktown on his own, with the jars for Mathari. The sooner, the better, right? But now, he’d give them to Wren. Let Wren see to her. He left earlier than he usually did, trekked across Kirkwall and rapped his knuckles on the door of Wren’s home. “Wren?” he called quietly, then unlocked the door. “Are you up?” Peeking inside, he found her sitting up in her bed, the blankets pooled around her waist, looking bleary-eyed and the corner of his mouth twitched seeing the way her hair stood out everywhere. The dense curls a massive tangle around her face.

“My cane?” she asked and it took him a moment as he walked inside and shut the door.  
“I forgot it,” he told her. “I’ll go get it.”

“No,” she waved her hand and shook her head. “It’s early. Hopefully, they are sleeping. It’s fine. I’ll just…” she glanced toward the bathroom and frowned. “Shit,” she muttered and tossed back the blankets. “Make yourself useful, Knight-Captain, give me hand.”

Quickly he removed his cloak, set the satchel on the table and made his way over to her. “What do you need?”

“A hand,” she bit out and held up her own. Cullen held out both of his and let her grab on. She used his hand and the chair that still sat beside her bed to pull herself up to her feet. Bracing herself against him she arched her back, stretching it and then slowly bent forward and let out a groan. “Next time you abscond with me while I’m sleeping, try to remember my cane?”

“Of course, serah,” Cullen said, a faint smile playing over his lips.

Wren ignored Cullen’s smile and gave him a little shove as the muscles in her back loosened up once she was on her feet. Her back felt better than she’d imagined considering the circumstances. She thought for sure she’d be completely bed-bound for a day or two with how much she’d ached the night before. But between the salve and Cullen’s massage. Well, she wouldn’t tell him that. “Be useful, make me some tea,” she jerked her chin to the stove and then made her way across the room to the bathroom.

Once inside, Wren splashed cold water on her face and then took her time changing into a simple dress. She was eager to go check on Mathari, but at the same time, she dreaded it knowing how little there was she could do now besides wait. When she finally stepped back out of the bathroom, Wren found Cullen sitting at the table, her teacup sat at the other spot, steaming with the musky scent of the tea she drank every morning.

Sitting down she took the cup into her hands and looked at Cullen. He sat, with his elbows braced on his knees, holding the leather satchel he’d brought in. “You’re awfully somber today, Knight-Captain.” Lifting his head he met her gaze and she felt her stomach drop. “What is it?”

“I brought you something, well, it’s for Mathari, I… hope that it helps.” She watched as he reached into the bag and produced two jars. Reading the labels she felt her heart skip several beats in her chest.

“Where did you-” tears filled her eyes. It was exactly what she’d longed for. And Cullen had gotten it. “How did you-”

“Will it help her?”

“Yes,” it was a choked sound. “But how-”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask.” Setting aside her cup she reached out and fingered the lids of the jars.

“You’ve just given Mathari a genuine fighting chance… thank you.” The words were hard to say, but she couldn’t deny the truth. If it weren’t for those little jars and whatever Cullen had done, Mathari would likely die within the week.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he said and there was a bitter tone to his voice. “I...” He stood suddenly, moved around the table to drop down onto his knees in front of her. “Would you stand up?” Wren did, curious and a little concerned. Then he pulled something else from his bag. A dagger, the length of her forearm, with a pretty jeweled handle, in a simple sheath with a plain brown leather belt.

Angling his head back, Cullen looked up at her and then reached out to loop the belt around her waist. He fastened it and adjusted the sheath so that it rested at her hip. “Do me a favor,” he said, his hand grazing down the sheath, she felt the pressure of it against her thigh. “Don’t leave the house without this?”

“I don’t understand,” Wren whispered. Had something happened? She wondered. Morelli? A trickle of sweat ran down her spine.

“The Knight-Commander has instructed me… if Morelli isn’t found within the week, then it’s over. I return to my duties and he is considered a deserter. It’s possible that he left Kirkwall. That he suspected I was going to go after him and he fled.”

“You don’t believe that,” Wren said, the words coming without thought.

“No,” he shook his head. “I cannot go against the Knight-Commander’s orders. But I also cannot stand the thought of leaving you defenseless against him.” Cullen stood up and Wren had to angle her head back to look at him.

“That’s going to scar,” she said quietly, reaching up to trace a fingertip along the cut on his lip. “It was an accident.”

Cullen caught her hand, held it and she felt the warmth of his fingers even through the leather glove. “It’s alright,” he reassured her. “I understand.”

And because she knew he did, and she didn’t like the way he was standing so close to her, or the butterflies that seemed to have taken flight in her belly she tugged her hand free. “Had I realized it was your face, I would have kicked harder,” she said flippantly, then sat back down in the chair and took her teacup in hand again.

She heard Cullen’s low chuckle as he walked around the table and sat down again. “I imagine you would have.”


	10. Chapter 10

Wren was angry. Livid. But it surprised her that all that rage wasn’t directed at the Templar who regularly showed up on her doorstep. The stupid Templar with the stupid blonde curls and that stupid little smile. And all the stupid little gifts he kept bringing her. First, it was little things, a chair for her home. Then a table and more chairs. A new blanket, that he ‘forgot’ and every time she tried to give it back to him he would just say he’d get it next time.

A tonic that saved a young girl from certain death. A dagger to keep herself safe. Dinner most nights, even after fucking Knight-Commander Meredith ordered him to return to his duties. The Knight-Commander. That was who her rage was directed at. The Templars who looked the other way when it came to their abuse of power. The ones who took advantage of the weak and the poor. Darktown was a slum. Most people barely getting by. They hated the guards, but more than that, they hated the Templars.

There had been a raid just that morning, searching for Apostates and blood magic. Anders was the root of it. They wanted him, but for some reason, couldn’t touch him. He always slipped through their fingers. Wren suspected it was largely due to Garret Hawke and his status in Kirkwall. The two were good friends. So instead, the Templars just terrorized everyone else.

Her blood was still boiling over it. A smart remark from an old man had ended up with him beaten and dragged away in chains.

_Fucking Templars._

She was restless, angry and she just wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. When there was a knock on the front door, she snarled. “What?!”

Silence. Her heart kicked up into her throat. Morelli. It had been months. Nearly four months since he’d kicked in her door and brutalized her. The Knight-Commander insisted he must have skipped town. And since he wasn’t helping mages, he wasn’t worth the trouble. She snorted. Of course, that was the worst sin. To help a mage.

“Wren?” The voice on the other side of the door was tentative and familiar. Cullen. Crossing to the door she opened it, hands on her hips she glared at him. “Uh- is everything okay?” he reached up one hand, rubbed the back of his neck.

“Did you know about it?” she bit out the words, targeting him with her anger because he was there and he was a fucking Templar too. Despite the fact that he was kind to her. That he massaged her back when the pain was unbearable.

Cullen’s brows drew together and he gave his head a slow shake. “About what?” There was genuine confusion in his voice.

“The raid on Darktown?”

“The what?” There was a hint of anger in his town now.

Wren stepped away from the door and walked over to the stove. She’d made dinner, it wasn’t much, a basic stew. She heard Cullen walk in, the door closed and she watched from the corner of her eye as he shed his cloak. It wasn’t as if her home was large. They could have carried on their conversation without even raising their voices with her at the stove and him at the table. But the last few weeks he’d invaded her space more and more. Seemingly unconscious of the act. And Wren, surprisingly, didn’t have the immediate urge to punch him for it. “Wren? What raid?” he demanded, leaning against the wall behind her.

“They were looking for Anders,” she explained, dishing up the food. She handed him a bowl and he took it automatically.

“You know him.”

“Of course, I do. Everyone in Darktown, for fuck's sake, everyone in Kirkwall knows who Anders is.”

“He’s an apostate,” there was an edge to Cullen's voice that wasn’t usually there.

Wren ignored it, crossed to the table and sat down. “He’s a healer.”

“He’s a mage,” Cullen hadn’t moved and Wren looked at him, and she waited. Held his gaze.

“He’s a healer,” she repeated. “Just the same as I am.”

Cullen shook his head, crossed to the table and put the plate down, hard. Wren flinched. “Not the same! You don’t use magic! You’re not a mage!”

She stared up at him, confused and a little afraid. Cullen didn’t scare her, but this… this reaction? “I’m not a mage, no, but I-” use magic? That would be the most unwise thing for her to say. It wasn’t the same magic as a mage would use. There was no tie to the Fade. It came from the earth. It came from her. It was something that could be taught if the person was willing and open. She used it when she made her tonics and tinctures and potions. Used her own energies to give them a boost. Wren had done the same when working on Mathari. Chanted quietly, focused and poured every little bit of herself into the healing as she could.

But if she told Cullen? He’d throw her in the Circle just as any Templar would. It was why she’d never told him of it. Kept it hidden as best she could. “I heal people, and so does Anders.”

“Mages are dangerous,” it was practically a snarl and Wren stood, fed up with the attitude.

“And what?” she snapped at him, hands on her hips. “They should all be made Tranquil? Would that make you happy, Templar?” He didn’t say anything, but she saw the look on his face. _Yes. He would prefer that._ Bile burned her throat. “You know what? Get the fuck out.” She walked past him, knocking his arm with her shoulder as she passed to wrench open the door. “Take your sorry, Mage-hating, Templar ass out of my home.”

“Wren-”

“I swear, on Andraste’s fucking ashes, Knight-Captain, if you don’t get the fuck out of my home right now,” she grabbed her cane that rested beside the door. “I will hit you so hard, you’ll forget how much you hate mages.”

Cullen hesitated, then made his way to the door. He grabbed his cloak, stepped outside, then turned one last plea on his lips.

“My mother was made Tranquil,” Wren told him, her voice cold. “She wasn’t even a fucking mage. She was just…” Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She’d just wanted to protect her, and live and love. “Rich men with their money and their bribes. She was dragged to the Circle, and fucking Templars made her Tranquil. They took everything from her! And I watched her drink poison and die, rather than live another day as an emotionless shell of what she had been.” Wren slammed the door as hard as she could, then closed the lock as loudly as she could. Then, not satisfied she curled her hands into fists and just screamed.

Cullen stood on Wren’s doorstep for a long moment before turning and storming off, a little angry, a little confused, and worried. He had thought they had given up the token attempts to bring in Anders. They had already taken Hawke’s sister into the Circle, which was met with rage on Hawke’s part, Cullen was certain that if the Templars actually took Anders into custody, the streets would run red with their blood.

How could Wren not see that mages were dangerous? The Circle was the best place for them. It kept them safe, as well as regular people. Mages weren’t… they weren’t real people. They were a breath away from becoming abominations. One slip. One thought and that was all it would take. And tranquility, it had to be the better choice. It had to be. Because if it wasn’t – his stomach twisted and he shook his head. “It is,” he insisted, though he heard the doubt in his own voice.

Her mother had been made Tranquil? Without even being a mage? Because Wren’s father had paid someone enough money. That wasn’t what being a Templar was. Cullen took pride in his duty. He protected people. Even the mages, he protected them, from himself, from the likes of Morelli. Didn’t he?

Wren’s anger had barely diminished by the next day. When the knock came early morning she drew in a breath, made herself calm down. “Hey, sweetheart,” she forced a smile onto her face and took in Mathari’s downcast head. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Wren reached out, gently cupped the girl’s chin and angled her head up.

Tears shone in her brown eyes and it was obvious the girl had been crying for some time. “What is it?” Wren asked concerned.

“I saw Anders,” her voice hitched and then she sobbed, covering the scarred side of her face with her hand. “He-he said-” another sob escaped. “He can’t-”

“Oh, oh sweetheart,” Wren crooned gently, drawing the girl inside and into her arms. Mathari was nearly the same height as her and she pressed her face into Wren’s neck as she sobbed. The scars, Wren guessed. Anders couldn’t do anything to make the vicious scars go away. Magic or no. Guilt twisted Wren’s belly. She’d tried so hard to minimize the scarring. Used the tiniest of stitches, but the bastards who had hurt her, who had cut her up did so much damage. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she hiccuped, her arms around Wren’s waist. “I just-I’d hoped-” Wren smoothed a hand down the back of Mathari’s head. “Who is going to want me when I look like this?”

Wren tightened her grip, squeezed. “A few scars don’t change who you are, Mathari. You’re sweet and kind, and you’ve survived.” Drawing back, she took Mathari’s face between her hands and stared into her eyes, her thumb tracing the still pink and healing scars. “You survived.”

“Because of you, and Cullen.” Her eyes were watery, but the tears had stopped streaming down her cheeks.

“We just helped. You survived because you are so fucking strong. Do you hear me? If someone can’t accept a few scars, they don’t deserve you anyway.”

Mathari sniffled, then reached up and rubbed her eyes with her fists. “Okay,” she said quietly. “That’s what momma said too.”

“Your mom is right,” Wren said, then pressed a kiss to her forehead and nudged her to the table. “Grab a chair and bring it over. I’ll get the tea and then we’ll get to work, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mathari did as she was told, pulling a chair up next to Wren’s at the work table, and then they went over the previous lessons, Wren gently quizzing her on what certain herbs and plants could do.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all. the. angst.  
> it just never ends with this story.

Cullen looked down at Mathari as she came to lean up against the wall beside him. “Did she send you out here to tell me to leave?” he asked curiously.

Mathari shook her head. “No, she told me I should stay away from you.” It stung, but Cullen shouldn’t have been surprised. “Are you two fighting because of that Templar?”

“What do you know of it?” Cullen asked. Mathari had been through much, with her own attack, though she hadn’t been violated as Wren had been and he prayed to the Maker that Mathari didn’t know the specifics. She was too young. Too sweet. He liked the girl and hoped she could hold onto that innocence a bit longer.

Mathari frowned, scrunching her lips up to one side. “Just that he hurt her. A lot.”

A little bit of a relief, he thought. “No, it isn’t about him. That’s why I’m here because I want to keep her safe. But she’s angry with me.”

“How come?” Mathari asked, tipping her head back to look up at him.

“Because I am a Templar.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s dumb. You helped her, you helped her help me.” she reached up and fingered the scars on her cheek.

But that wasn’t really it, it was because he held onto so much hate and loathing toward mages. It wasn’t Wren. She had allowed him into her house, allowed him to be there every day, shared meals with him. Confided in him. “It’s because I… don’t like mages.”

“Oh,” Mathari frowned, her shoulders slumped a little.

“I used to,” he told her. “I had a friend back in the last Circle I was at. But then… mages hurt me.”

“Like the Templar hurt Wren?”

“Not quite but… in a way.” He remembered it all so vividly and every night it came back to haunt him.

The girl saw too much, Cullen thought. “You want Anders locked up, don’t you? But he helps us. He helps the people here.”

A silent battle raged inside Cullen’s mind. The Chantry said mages were to be locked in the towers, for their own protection, for the protection of others. But he had witnessed firsthand what desperate mages were willing to do to try and find freedom. Anders should be locked in the Circle. But he couldn’t argue the fact that Anders did help to take care of the people of Kirkwall, Darktown specifically, the people who he had grown rather fond of in the last few months. “Are you headed home?” he asked, changing the subject.

Mathari nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you,” he said, and she opened her mouth, he saw the objection on her lips but then she smiled a little.

“Okay.” One Mathari was inside her home, Shava grabbed his hand, squeezed and thanked him for seeing that her daughter got home safe, he left and headed back to Wren’s.

She nearly slammed it in his face the moment she opened it. “Wait,” Cullen said, his hand shooting out to keep the door open. “Please, Wren, I just want to talk.” She raised her brows, waited. “Please, Wren.” After a long moment, she turned away, and Cullen drew in a deep breath before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Wren stood in the center of the room, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting. Cullen walked over to the table, pulled out the chair he usually sat in, turned it to face her, and sunk down in it, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He drew in another breath and then tilted his head back to look up at her. “I didn’t always hate mages. Becoming a Templar was all I’d ever wanted as a child, but I hadn’t been in Kinloch Hold for long, a year or so when it fell. There was a mage there, he was… he was the same age as I, and Maker, he was sarcastic and funny, he always had a joke. He was my friend.

"He failed his Harrowing. Took too long, they said. Obviously, he’d been ensnared by a demon. Rather than risk it, they killed him. Within weeks the Tower was chaos. Demons and Abominations. Blood mages and-” his breath hitched at the memories. Closed his eyes and bowed his head, silently praying for the strength to get through it. To tell her. Cullen needed her to know everything. He heard the scrape of wood and opened his eyes to see Wren setting the chair down in front of him before she sat.

“Go on,” she urged, her tone gentle.

Cullen swallowed hard and nodded a little. “There was-” Closing his eyes again, he saw the blood on the stone floors, pooling in the cracks between. “There was a group of mages, blood mages, who wanted their freedom. It didn’t matter who stood in their way, mages or templars, they would cut them down. The demons… they...they-” _Darling, isn’t this what you want?_ Words whispered against his ear with a kiss. He shuddered and felt a warm hand cover his. Cullen met Wren’s gaze, and then wrapped his other hand around hers, held on, used it as an anchor to keep the nightmares from dragging him down.

“The demons did what demons do. Manipulated anyone they could. I watched my fellow comrades succumb to them, and once the demon had what it wanted, it would slaughter them. I couldn’t tell you how long they kept me locked up, in some magical prison. The demon tried everything, every angle, but I refused to break. I refused-” Cullen drew in a deep breath. “I saw the worst atrocities that mages could commit in that tower. When the Hero of Ferelden came, I insisted that they kill every mage, because the mages could not be trusted.”

Lowering his head with a sigh, Cullen stared at their hands. Wren’s slender fingers, calloused and strong. But soft and stained the faintest shade of green. “I know it doesn’t excuse my actions or my words. After all, how much have you suffered at the hands of Templars over the course of your life, and yet you’ll sit here, you’ll hold my hand when by rights you should hate me.”

Wren made a quiet sound. “I do,” she said and Cullen looked up, started to withdraw his hands, but she didn’t let go. “Sometimes, when you act like a complete and total arse. But for a templar, Knight-Captain, you’re not so bad.”

He nearly wept. Might have out of sheer relief, if Wren hadn’t squeezed his hands tightly before standing up. “Are you hungry? Olan brought over a whole pot of stew. Don’t ask what kind of meat it is.”

“How is Ari?” Cullen asked, replacing the chairs in their spaces at the table before following. “I can do that,” he offered and she let him take the ladle and fill the bowls. He caught sight of the frown on her face, the pursed lips and her eyes went damp before she quickly blinked and it was gone.

“Not good,” she said, her voice a little hoarse as she filled to mugs with ale. “It’s...” her voice hitched. “It isn’t fair,” she hissed angrily. “She’s just a child-” Wren quickly wiped at her eyes. Cullen followed her to the table and they both sat.

“There must be something,” he said, thinking of the old mage healer in the tower. The one he’d stolen the medicine for Mathari from.

Wren looked at him from across the table and sighed. “Don’t you think we’ve tried? The tonic I make her is the only thing that has even remotely helped.” She lowered her head, pushed the contents of her bowl around. “I don’t think she’ll last the year.”

Reaching across the table, Cullen covered Wren’s hand that rested on the table near her mug with his own. He didn’t have any words to make it better. So instead, he just held her hand, a wordless promise that he would stand beside her, that he would help her.

Weeks later, when Wren’s front door flew open she jumped, fear lodged her heart in her throat, and her blood turned to ice. It was so easy to pretend that she wasn’t afraid every second of the day that Thomas Morelli would come to pay her another brutal visit, until she was startled. But instead of the Templar, it was Mathari, wide-eyed and she had a burn on her arm.

“What happened?!”

“Come quick! Hurry! Wren you have to-” she was tugging at Wren’s hand the moment that she stood and reached for Mathari. “Hurry! The Templars!” Tears streaked down the young girl's cheeks.

“Take a breath. Tell me what happened,” Wren said, trying to stay calm, but she was terrified. What had happened? She grabbed her cane, then took Mathari’s hand. “We’re going, now tell me.”

“The little boy, he’s the son of one of the merchants. I was at the market and there was a sound and it was like lightning. And then it was all smoke and fire. Hurry!” She tugged at Wren’s hand and she quickened her pace.  
“Who was hurt? The boy?”

“No!” Mathari wailed. “He’s a mage! His parents ran, they took him home! But the Templars! The fire was so big, they’ll know!”

There was no escaping the dread that twisted Wren’s belly into knots. Wren hurried as fast as she could, Mathari could barely slowing her pace, she kept running ahead only to sprint back to where Wren was as they made their way across Kirkwall. Wren was formulating a plan. Anders would help. Of course, he would, he’d help sneak the boy and his family from Kirkwall. They just had to move fast. Faster than the Templars. But as they rounded the last corner, Wren knew it was too late. Five Templars stood on the street in front of the small house. Another on the doorstep. A steel gloved hand pounding on the door. “Open up!” the voice echoed from inside the armor and seemed to reverberate down the street.


	12. Chapter 12

Cullen kept up a fast clip as he headed for the house where word had quickly spread that a young mage was being harbored. “He’s just a child!” he heard the shout and nearly started running. He knew that voice. _Wren_. _Oh, Maker, please_. Please, what he didn’t know. But as he rounded the corner he watched the Templar who stood at least two heads taller than her, draw back his arm and strike her. It took every ounce of control not to launch himself at the Templar.

Wren didn’t make a sound as she fell. She landed sprawled out on the cold stones and for a moment, Cullen was sure she was unconscious, but she pushed up partway, and her lip curled back as she glared up at the Templar. Mathari was the one who screamed and dropped onto her knees beside Wren.

“What is going on here?” Cullen roared, his voice cutting through the cacophony on the street. A man stood on the doorstep, blocking a Templar from getting inside.

“You won’t take my child!” the man bellowed, shoved the now distracted Templar. Cullen took a step forward, he had to deescalate the situation, quick. But it was too late. The Templar grabbed onto the man as he started to tumble backward, spun him, and threw the man down the stairs and onto the stone street below before landing over him.

Inside the house, through the partially open door, Cullen saw a woman, clutching a little boy to her chest as they watched in horror. The little boy screamed and Cullen felt it. Watched the child’s fingers light up. The other Templars felt it too. Just as the energy began to arc from the boy’s hands, the five Templars stopped it. The boy went limp and the mother fell to her knees, screaming as she clutched her child to her chest.

Cullen stepped forward, yanked the Templar off the man who still lay sprawled on the stones, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, though if it was from pain or the loss he knew that was to come, Cullen wasn’t sure. “That is enough,” he said, shoving the Templar away.

“But Knight-Captain-”

“I said, enough!” Cullen shouted and looked at each of the Templars. This was too much. It had been overkill. Who had been behind this catastrophe? “This is not how we deal with these kinds of matters! Back to the Chantry, now!”

“But-”

Cullen grabbed hold of the Templar's chest plate, yanked the man close. “I said, back to the Chantry,” the words were a growl. The Templar paled and scurried away. He saw Wren, still on the ground, the Templar still standing over her. But he had to see to the boy, to the wailing mother inside. “If a Templar remains out on this street by the time I step back through that door, there will be consequences!” he yelled and then ducked inside.

“Please,” the woman was weeping, her son, Maker, he was a child. Cheeks still round with baby fat. “He’s my baby, my only son. Please, don’t take him,” she begged and Cullen drew in a breath before crouching down in front of the woman.

“It is the law. The Chantry says-”

The woman shook her head. “No, you, you’re the Templar who helped our Wren. She’s called you friend. I know, I’ve heard it. Please, you can’t take my Rory.”

“Serah,” Cullen bowed his head and his heart felt torn in two. _Just a child_. Wren’s tearful whisper about Ari. _Just a child,_ she’d screamed, trying to protect this boy. Cullen knew very well that had the Templars not arrived when they did, they likely would have found this house empty and no sign of any apostates.

_He’s just a little boy. Just a child._

_He’s a mage, who cannot control his magic._

_But he’s just a child._

“I don’t have a choice,” Cullen said quietly, reaching out to smooth his hand over the top of the boy’s head. “I am sorry. I will do everything in my power to see that he is safe, well taken care of.”

The woman sniffled, pressed her face against her son’s chest as she wept, clung to him for long moments. “Will I be allowed to see him? Please, please he’s only a baby. He’s my only baby.”

It wasn’t allowed. Once within the tower, no family ties were allowed, unless of course, that family had money. “I will do what I can,” Cullen told her and then reached out and carefully took the boy from her arms. Her husband was there a moment later, sinking to the floor with her, they clung to each other and Cullen drew in a breath as he stood, leaving the couple in their grief.

Wren’s hip ached from where she’d landed on the stones. Her face hurt, and there was blood on her hands. But beyond all that, she was so angry. The Templar who hit her, who stood over her sneering down at her, she knew him. He’d been a regular at the Rose until Morelli had staked his claim.

Cullen disappeared into the house and still, he lingered. “Now that Morelli’s gone,” Templar Blake Reid smirked. “You’re mine.”

“Fuck you,” she snarled.

“Oh, yeah, I think I’ll come visit you tonight,” he said. “The Knight-Captain can’t keep you safe anymore.” He crouched down in front of her and gripped her jaw. “I can’t wait to have these lips around my cock.”

“You put that nasty, tiny, disease-riddled prick anywhere near my lips and I’ll fucking bite it off.” She smiled sweetly, then spit in his face. He backhanded her again, but it was worth it. Worth the explosion of pain that had her going blind for several seconds.

“Fucking whore, oh, you’ll learn your place and you’ll stay in it this time.” He grabbed her cane, stood and the crack filled the air as he snapped it in half.

Mathari had been quiet behind Wren, but at that, she lunged forward. “You fucking piece of shit!” Wren barely managed to grab the girl before she struck him.

Blake grinned down at them. “Oh, she’s got as much spirit as you do. I look forward to breaking her.”

Wren’s blood ran cold. She clutched Mathari against her chest as the girl tried to break free. “I will kill you before you so much as lay a fucking finger on her. Or any other person in this city, for that matter.”

“Templar Reid,” Cullen’s voice was loud and Wren heard the anger. But her heart sunk as she saw the little boy unconscious in his arms. “I said return to the Chantry.”

Blake made a quiet sound. “Of course, Knight-Captain.” He sent one last leering grin down at Wren before turning and walking away.

Cullen met her gaze and Wren shook her head. “Fucking Templars,” she looked away, so angry and heartbroken. She didn’t know what she’d expected of Cullen. He was Templar. That wouldn’t change. “He’s just a child.” The words came out through gritted teeth.

“Wren.”

“Fuck you, Knight-Captain.” She finally released her grip on Mathari and struggled to get up. Mathari gathered her broken cane, and with one last disgusted look at Cullen, she slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and led her away. Wren wanted to see that Mathari got home safe, and stayed there, then she’d return to check on the parents of Rory.

The next handful of days, Wren felt like she was in a fog. So when there was a knock on her door she opened it without thinking. Templar Black Reid smirked down at her and Wren tried to shove the door closed on him, but he easily pushed it back open, shoved his way inside. He curled his fist around her throat and then her back slammed up against the now closed door.

Wren didn’t fight. He was stronger than she was. She knew that if she struck out at him, he’d only make it worse. “That’s a good little whore,” he crooned, leaning in close. She bit her tongue, bile burned her throat. She was sick and tired of being manhandled by these fucking Templars who thought they had every right. “Your loverboy has been too busy to visit you, hasn’t he?” She didn’t react, didn’t so much as blink as she stared at him. “The Knight-Captain. Boy has his hands full with the disaster around that little bastard apostate. Uncontrollable. Tried to make him Tranquil. Too bad the kid wasn’t strong enough.”

Wren suddenly felt lightheaded and it had nothing to do with the fist around her throat. He was talking about Rory. Tranquil. “What-what are you- No,” it was a choked sound. Tears burned her eyes and Reid laughed. He was just a child. Cullen had- no. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t have.

“Dead as can-fucking-be. If they can’t be made Tranquil, they’ve got no business breathing air.”

There was a ringing in her ears. Loud and piercing. _Fucking Templars._ Distantly, she felt Reid’s hand tugging at the front of her skirt, pulling up layers of fabric while he went on about how useless mages were. She’d been a fool to ever think that Cullen was different. A tear rolled down her cheek and she grunted with disgust when Reid leaned in and licked it. “Do you know who I think has no business breathing air?” she asked, felt his hand on her bare thigh. He stilled.

“Who?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You. And every single other Templar on this fucking planet.” She curled her fingers around the dagger that had hung from the small sheath on the side that he hadn’t been tugging at. Wren pulled the blade free and lifted the dagger up between them to press the tip against his throat. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

“Cunt,” he spat the word but did as she said, her skirt fell back down around her legs and the hand around her throat tightened for one second before he released her and took a step back. “You’ll pay for this. You can’t kill me.”

Wren smiled at him, keeping the tip of the blade against his skin. “You seem to think I actually care? I’d rather rot in a dungeon than ever allow another Templar to touch me again.” She moved toward him, guiding him away from the door so she could open it, then forced him to start back toward it, all the while she kept the blade at his throat.

“You think your flimsy little knife is going to keep me from coming back?”

“No,” Wren said honestly. “But, the fact that I coated it in poison might.” She slashed at his cheek. It wasn't deep. Barely a scratch. But it didn’t matter. “Might want to go see a healer, if you don’t want your face to rot off completely.”

“You fucking-” she slammed the door on his face and slammed the bolt home. He shouted some more, pounded his fist on the door and then he made a quiet sound. Cursed and she heard him retreat. He might have been lying, she thought, sliding the blade back into the sheath. Reid might have been lying about Rory, about Cullen’s hand in it. _Please, let him have been lying._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I felt rather terrible about leaving it where I did, and managed to write quite a bit last night after posting the other chapter. 
> 
> So, ta-da! 
> 
> More angst and drama!!

Wren spotted Cullen standing, in his full armor, spine straight, head up, staring beyond the general traffic in front of the Chantry. He didn’t see her approach. “Is it true?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.

Cullen blinked, looked at her, then quickly glanced around, as if trying to make sure no one was around to see the scene that he knew she was going to cause. “Wren-”

“Is it true!?” she shouted, shoved at his chest. He reached for her but she slapped his hands away, pushed at him again. “Rory! Is it true?! Did you try to make him Tranquil?”

“Wren.” She heard it in his voice. The apology. Guilt swamped her. It was true.

“I… I was a fool. I trusted you.”

“Wren,” he reached for her again. “Wren, please,” Cullen’s voice was quiet, desperate but she just batted him away again.

“He was only a child,” she breathed the words out, felt the tears on her cheeks. “How do I-” she had to tell his parents. Cullen’s fingers curled around her bicep and she shoved him again and this time he stumbled back a few steps. Angrily, she stripped off the belt that held the dagger before she threw the whole thing at him. He fumbled to catch it, then stood there, holding it in his hands as he looked at her. She could see the regret and she didn’t care. “Fuck you! Fucking Templars. You fucking-” Her chest hurt. Pain spearing through her heart as if she’d been stabbed and was bleeding out. “I trusted you. I should have-” the words caught. “I never want to see you again. I swear, if you… I’ll kill you. Step foot in Darktown and I _will_ slit your throat.”

She shook her head as she stepped back, away from him. “Careful, poison on the blade. Or don’t. Maybe just do us all a favor and stab yourself through your cold-blooded heart.” He called her name as she turned and walked away. She hurt, body and soul. The walk back across town was slower without her cane, often having to stop and brace herself against a wall.

Ingrid opened the door when she knocked. Her eyes were red, and Wren wondered how quickly word had spread. It was obvious that they had already been informed. “I’m sorry,” Wren told her. “I’m so… so sorry.”

“It can’t be true! It can’t!” Her husband wrapped his arms around the wailing woman, held her to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Wren repeated, but the words sounded hollow. They couldn’t begin to convey the regret she felt over it all.

“It isn’t your fault,” he reassured her.

“Isn’t it?” Wren shook her head. “I let him in, I let him stay…”

“Rory would be a mage no matter what. We’ve hidden it for weeks now. Perhaps, your friend the Knight-Captain offered him a little kindness in the end.”

Shaking her head, Wren angrily dashed away her tears. “There isn’t an ounce of kindness in him. I’m so very sorry. If there is anything- Please, let me help if there is anything you need.” Then she made her way home. Inside, she sat on her bed in the dark and wept. It had been a foolish thing, allowing a Templar to worm his way into her life. To allow him near the people she cared about. Lanasa, the woman who had so long ago loved her, been her other mother, she’d had it right. A cabin in the woods. As far from any Templars as possible.

Hours passed and Wren stayed where she was, too numb to do anything. She thought of getting up, tossing the table and chairs out the door. Maybe breaking them to use them as firewood. The very blanket she sat upon had been a gift from him. Wren’s jaw trembled and she curled her fingers in the soft, warm fabric. “Fucking Templars,” she hissed, felt the tears burn her eyes again.

Outside her apartment there was a thump against her door, then shouts. More thumps. Sounds of someone being beaten. Worry gnawed at her, and she scrambled to her feet, grabbing the biggest kitchen knife she owned, which wasn’t particularly big, but without her dagger or her cane, it was all she had.

Cautiously at first, she cracked open the door. She could see three men standing with their backs to her. A fourth man lay on the ground at their feet. But the shape seemed wrong somehow. “Oh, gods, what-” she wrenched open the door, and there, just a few feet away, lay a _head_. One that stared up at her, horror etched into features that she knew all too well. Even if she hadn’t, she’d recognize the gash across his cheek that had festered into a nasty wound in the hours since she’d done it.

“Wren!”

Jerking her head up, she took in the three men who turned around to face her. “What-how-why did...” she tripped over the words as they tangled over her tongue.

“Did you know him?” Garrett Hawke asked, his voice a little cautious. “I hope you weren’t friends.”

Wren blinked. Anders stood beside him, on Garrett’s other side was an elf, whose tattoos glowed dimly in the darkness. “Wren? Are you alright?” Anders stepped forward, then hesitated when he noticed the knife in her hand.

“You killed him.” She stared down at Reid’s head.

“A bounty is a bounty,” Garrett told her. “I’m always up for killing a Templar, but we heard this one was a bit of an ass.”

Wren looked up, blinked. “A bounty?”

“That specified he be tossed face down in the harbor,” the elf spoke, his voice somber, but it held amusement.

“What?” Garrett asked his tone affronted. “It wasn’t as if I _meant_ to take his head off. Not completely anyway,” he sulked. “It’ll just be a bit more difficult to toss him in face down. Maybe if we...” he trailed off and Wren felt a hand on her elbow.

“Wren?” Anders’ voice was gentle and she looked up at him, realized tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Thank you,” her voice cracked and she jerked her chin toward the corpse. “He...you saved me the trouble of hauling his body down to the docks myself. Who ordered the bounty?” she asked, but she knew and it broke her heart.

“It wasn’t signed, but it arrived with this, asking that it be delivered to-” Garrett dug into his satchel, pulled out a belt that held a sheath and a dagger Wren was all too familiar with. “This address, to you?”

Wren held her hand out, took it and then held it against her chest. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Garrett said with a grin, then turned and hefted the Templar’s body over his shoulder. “Grab the head Fen.”

“Wait, Anders,” Wren reached out before he could turn away. “Could you go see Ari, if you have time. She hasn’t been doing well lately.”

The blonde man smiled gently and nodded. “Yes, of course. Though nothing I’ve been able to do helps, it seems your tonic is the only thing that keeps her going.” There was a sadness, one that Wren felt to her core. “Are _you_ alright?” he asked, then angled his head. “You've got a bruise.”

“It’s fine,” Wren waved her hand dismissively. “You took care of the problem,” she told him with a glance at the bloodstains on the cobblestones.

“Here, let me help with this too,” he took her face between his hands, carefully as possible, and Wren’s eyes slipped shut as the warmth seeped into her skin and the aches that had plagued her for days faded away.

“Thank you,” she told him, then watched him scurry off to catch up with the other two. Sighing heavily, Wren turned and went back inside, this time she sat at the table and stared down at the dagger. Perhaps, just maybe, there was a modicum of kindness in Cullen. She prayed that whatever Rory had been through, had been quick. Eventually, she got up, changed into her nightgown before crawling into bed.

At least with Reid gone, she had one less thing to worry about. Mathari would be safe from the bastard. Curling up in bed, she hoped for sleep, but it didn’t come. When the knock came on her door, her heart leaped up into her chest, because she knew at this late hour, it wasn’t going to be anything good.

“Can’t I just have a day? Just one?” she asked as she hurried to get up and cross the room. Yanking open the door, she stared in horror at the man on her doorstep. “What are you-” her voice broke.

“Hurry,” Cullen used his body to nudge her back into the house, blocking anyone who might be out on the street from seeing. “Wren, you have to get Rory’s parents out of town tonight. Before the sun comes up.”

“What? Why? Are the Templars going to come and punish them because you killed their son?” Anger made her voice tremble. But then he was pressing something into her arms, something warm and heavy and the cloak fell away. “What have you done?” she whispered.

“Can you get them out of Kirkwall? You have to Wren. The grieving couple vanishing after the tragic death of their son won’t raise any eyebrows. But they have to go _tonight_.”

Wren blinked at him and Cullen stared at her for a long second, wondering if she had processed what was happening. “You-” her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Yes, yes, of course, I’ll make sure-” her breath hitched and Cullen yanked off his cloak before pulling it around her shoulders.

“Can you make it?” Cullen asked, worried. After her fall and without her cane. The boy was a heavy burden to carry so far. But Cullen hadn’t been able to risk it. “Wren, can you make it?” he repeated when she didn’t say anything, just stared down at the boy’s face. There was no starburst brand on his forehead. He reached out, dragged the cloak around and over him. “Wren?” He hesitated, his hands resting against hers.

“I can, I can-” she nodded. “Cullen,” his name was a rasp and Wren twisted one of her hands, curling her pinkie finger around his. “Why?”

“He’s just a child,” Cullen told her. Though that had been only part of it. The other reason had been her. He knew he was a fool for it. Andraste preserve him, but he’d gone and fallen in love with Wren, and he was fairly certain he’d do nearly anything for her.

“Reid is dead,” she said the words quickly as he started to step back. He had to return to the Chantry, quickly. It had all been so carefully orchestrated, one little slip could bring everything down around them.

“Good,” he replied absently. He couldn’t think about that, about what he’d put into motion. Did it make him any better than a common criminal? That he’d laid out the pieces and paid someone to kill another person. “Rory will wake up in a few hours. He knows, he understands how important it is that he keep control of his magic. They’ll have to go somewhere safe, I am sure that you know of someone who could help?” Wren nodded and Cullen gripped her hands a little tighter. “Wren, I-” the words were on the tip of his tongue. Tell her.

But he couldn’t. This wouldn’t fix things. She hated him for what he’d done and he couldn’t blame her. “Get them to safety.” Then Cullen fled, keeping his head down low as he hurried back to the Chantry.


	14. Chapter 14

Cullen knelt before the altar, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Was it blasphemous to pray that Rory and his family made it safely away from Kirkwall and found a place to hide? Perhaps he would be struck down by the Maker himself. But it had been worth it. Surely, surely this isn’t what the Maker wanted. Cullen had known if he told Knight-Commander Meredith that the boy was uncontrollable, she would have only one solution.

_Tranquility_.

He’d manipulated her and the entire situation because he couldn’t bear the thought of Wren hating him. Cullen doubted this would save him from her anger. Yes, he’d saved the boy. But he was still a Templar. The child was still a mage. Cullen had insisted when he returned to the Chantry with the boy, that he be the one who calmed the child down. Mages were often locked in a room if they fought the Templars.

It was cruel and barbaric. When Rory woke and tearfully asked for his mother and father, Cullen had known even then he’d make a decision that would alter everything.

“ _I need you to listen very closely, Rory,”_ he said, keeping his voice low, though the room was made of stone, and had no windows, the door made of thick, heavy wood, reinforced with steel. The boy had listened, gone along with it all. Just a child who wanted to see his parents again.

And from there, Cullen had been almost disturbed at how simple it had all been. A short vague conversation with the apothecary who worked in the Chantry’s infirmary. The same man, who not so long ago, Cullen had stolen the medicine for Mathari from. This time, Cullen had taken the time to learn his name, Jacques Gérin. Convincing Meredith had been the easiest task.

Then, in front of witnesses, as Cullen went through the motions of the Rite of Tranquility, the Rory had collapsed. Pronounced dead, Cullen had been forced to listen to the others make comments about how weak the child had been. _Better off dead anyway._ Then Cullen had to wait. Rory had been taken away by Gérin.

Wren finding out hadn’t been part of his plan. But for the best, in the long run. There had been many witnesses to her rage over the death of the boy. A child, made Tranquil, without ever being given the chance to go through the Harrowing. Surely, someone would object to that?

_But did I make the right choice?_ He silently questioned himself. Time would tell.

The problem of Templar Blake Reid had been another matter. One that Cullen hadn’t expected to escalate quite so. But after seeing the man storm past him, muttering threats, and the deep, festering wound on his face that hadn’t been there earlier? Cullen had acted fast. He couldn’t be there to protect Wren. But he could at least try to make the problem go away. He hadn’t stopped to think, he hadn’t hesitated at all in writing out the letter and having it sent along with Wren’s dagger along to Hawke.

Cullen was grateful that Hawke had acted so quickly. He hadn’t just condoned murder, he’d put it in motion. “Maker,” he breathed out the word.

The days passed slowly. There were no whispers about the boy or his family. No one suspected a thing. Reid’s body was found, or what was left of it. “Obviously he was involved in something he shouldn’t have been,” Cullen said, as he stood with Knight-Commander Meredith.

“You don’t believe this is retaliation for the young mage?” she asked. “He was there, was he not?”

“Of course not,” Cullen said with a shake of his head. “If anyone had meant to retaliate, they would have acted against myself, or perhaps Templar Harkson,” Cullen named the Templar who had stood on the stoop that day. “But I don’t believe this has anything to do with the ch- mage.”

“Very well, see that the body is disposed of, if he has family, have them informed he was killed.”

That was that - the matter was settled. Cullen forced himself to wait until night had fallen. The only people out were criminals and the occasional guardsman. Even knowing she wouldn’t want to see him, Cullen had to go, he had to see her one last time, to be sure that she was alright and find out if Rory and his family had made it away safely.

He knocked and waited. It was late and she was likely asleep, so he knocked again, harder this time. The door cracked open and Cullen saw the glint of a dagger, then an eye and then the door flew open and Wren launched herself at him. For a moment, he fully expected to feel the slide of the blade into his skin.

Only, she didn’t stab him. She didn’t slit his throat as she’d promised. She wound her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. Cullen hesitated, just for a second, and then he breathed, wrapped his arms around her waist and stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. “Are they safe?” he asked quietly, his lips nearly against her ear.

Her head jerked in a nod and she drew back, looked at him. “I hate you,” she said, tears in her eyes. Wren cupped his face between her hands. “You stupid, idiot Templar. I hate you,” her voice cracked and she buried her face against his throat again and Cullen tightened one arm around her waist, while he slid the other up to cup the back of her head.

He held on, his heartbeat slowing as the relief coursed through him. Finally, he forced himself to lean back, to look at her face. “The bruise faded,” he murmured, his hand shifting from her hair to cup the cheek that the Templar had struck. It surprised him, and he imagined she must have used something to help it fade.

“I saw Anders,” Wren said, her eyes slipping shut as she leaned into the soft leather of his glove.

Cullen couldn’t breathe. She’d had to go see Anders? Maker, he hadn’t been quick enough. “How bad-” he broke off. Cullen had seen her immediately after Morelli had attacked her, she hadn’t gone to see Anders then, how much worse had it been.

“Oh, no, I ran into him, it wasn’t-” Wren cupped his face and tugged his head down, until his forehead rested against hers. “He never got the chance. He was just outside when Hawke and company caught up to him. Anders was just being kind in healing the bruise on my cheek and my hip.”

“You’re certain?” Cullen asked, letting his hand tangle in her curls again.

“I promise. I didn’t see Templar Reid alive after I gave him that cut on his cheek.”

“What did you use?” Cullen asked, curiously. The wound had been nasty.

“Rashvine and spider venom.”

Cullen breathed, hugged her again and closed his eyes. “Can’t Anders do something for your back?” he asked, lifting his head.

Wren smiled gently and shook her head. “No, he’s tried. Every mage I’ve met that had any knowledge of healing has tried. Nothing can be done.”

Of course, Cullen thought, she would have done everything she could, but he just hated the idea of her suffering. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said, though he was reluctant to withdraw. She hadn’t shunned him. “I need to go,” but he hesitated, touched her jaw.

“I know,” Wren whispered her head tilting, pressing into his hand. “It’ll be strange, I’ve gotten so used to having you around.”

“Promise that you’ll be careful, always have that dagger with you.”

“Yes, Knight-Captain,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her tone. “I will, I promise,” she said and then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders again, squeezed tight. “Take care of yourself, Cullen.” He hugged her back, then missed the warmth of her as she stepped back. Wren crossed to the wooden chest, opened it and tugged out his cloak. “Come back and see me, if you can, if you can sneak away.”

Cullen knew that would be impossible for the foreseeable future. Not after the confrontation in front of so many witnesses. No one would believe Wren would have forgiven him. So, Cullen imagined there would be two theories. Either he was just as bad as Morelli and Reid, or, something else was going on. His fingers itched to reach out, to hold her again, but instead, Cullen drew his cloak around his shoulders and pulled the hood up.

Wren followed Cullen to the door and she knew that it was likely she would never see him again, not as it had been, anyways. He wouldn’t spend evenings with her, sharing a meal. It wasn’t until it had ended that she realized how much she actually enjoyed spending time with him. His presence had gone from nuisance to comfort. She watched as he grabbed the door handle, then hesitated. “You’ll send word if you hear anything of Morelli, please?”

“I will,” Wren told him, and he still hesitated. “It’ll be okay, Cullen,” she reassured him.

Cullen looked down at her, and there was something in his gaze, something that made butterflies take wing in her belly. “I’ll figure something out. I- Just be careful.” Then he quickly opened the door and ducked outside. Wren closed the door partway, and stood there, her cheek pressed against the frame, watching until he disappeared into the darkness.

“You should be overjoyed,” she muttered quietly to herself, closing the door and latching the lock. “No more Templars.” But as she made her way across the room and curled up on her bed, Wren sighed. Rory was safe from the Chantry, for now. Mathari was safe from Reid. And if she was lonely? Then so be it. The strange friendship that had begun to grow between her and Cullen was a small thing to give up in comparison. “It’s for the best,” she murmured and wondered how many times she would have to tell herself that before she believed it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter might be a bit disjointed and I apologize! RealLife has been a bit hectic and while I've had the words in my head, getting them written out hasn't been so easy.

Days went by, then a handful of weeks. The weather grew colder. Wren spent her days much as she had before Cullen had barged into her life. She made tonics and potions for the people of Kirkwall, while she passed her knowledge onto Mathari. It was obvious that some blamed her for what happened with Rory. She understood why, it didn’t make it easier, but she did understand.

Wren was confused when the first small little package was delivered. A little porcelain box, with a handful of tiny brown envelopes that contained the little purple flower that was so expensive, tucked inside. Then a few days later a silk scarf, hand painted with little birds in flight against a deep blue sky. Other little things, small trinkets or plants, and flowers that she used for medicines.

“Whoa,” Mathari said, opening the door to yet another package being delivered. Wren looked up and frowned. It was far bigger than the others, long and narrow.

“Stupid man,” Wren muttered getting to her feet. She crossed to where Mathari laid out the package on the table and stared down at it. “He has to stop this,” she breathed out. Surely, someone would catch on eventually.

“Open it!” Mathari said excitedly. She knew the truth, after an angry argument, Wren had no choice but to tell her. ‘So romantic,’ she’d cooed, clutching her hands together under her chin as she smiled. Wren brushed it off, but as she stared at the brown box in front of her, she felt a strange kick in her chest. Slowly she untied the strings holding the paper around it, to reveal a simple wooden box.

Maybe he was upgrading her from a dagger to a sword, she thought with a laugh. But as she lifted the lid her breath caught and tears filled her eyes. Mathari made a quiet sound beside her and Wren just stared. The cane was black and shiny, definitely not wood. She reached out, traced her finger along its surface. Metal. Not steel. But something likely just a strong. Up her fingers traveled to the head of the cane.

It wasn’t just a simple curved grip. Care had been taken in carving the roaring lion’s head into the silverite top. “Stupid man,” Wren said again, dashing away the tear that rolled down her cheek. A small envelope was tucked inside the folds of fabric that cradled the beautiful cane and Wren picked it up.

_A lion as fierce as the woman who wields it._

_-C_

“Stupid man,” she said it again, carefully lifting the cane from the box. She’d expected it to be far heavier than her former lightweight wooden one. But it wasn’t. Heavier, yes, but it was a good weight. “Let’s go for a walk,” she said, smiling at Mathari. After all, this time cooped up in her apartment she was restless. They walked, visiting everyone Wren could think of. They walked for what seemed like hours, and Wren didn’t want to stop. She was so grateful.

“I’ll have to repay him somehow,” Wren muttered later that night as she got ready for bed. She was regretting the long walk earlier, her back ached. She tried to stretch her muscles, but the ache was in her bones. Sighing, she drank the cup of chamomile tea even knowing that she’d likely spend the night tossing and turning.

Sleep had just finally begun to tug at her, after hours of staring at the ceiling, when there was a soft tapping at her door. Wren held her breath, waiting. It came again. Her heart leaped up into her throat and she grabbed hold of the dagger, and her cane as she hobbled over to crack open the door.

For a second she saw only a shadowy figure, hood pulled up, hiding their face. Fear gripped her, but then he reached up and pushed the hood back enough to reveal a familiar face.

“Idiot,” she rasped, yanking open the door to let Cullen in. “If you’re going to keep doing this, we need a secret code or something, because one of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack.” She limped away from the door, leaning heavily on her cane as she went back to collapse onto her thin bed.

Cullen stepped inside, locking the door behind him. He shed his cloak and then looked at her. “You’re hurting and you look exhausted, I shouldn’t have come.”

“You really know how to flatter a woman, don’t you?” She smiled drowsily at him. “My secret admirer, as everyone in Darktown refers to the mysterious gift giver, sent me a beautiful new cane. After weeks of being trapped here, Mathari and I went for a very, very long walk.” Wren stretched out on her stomach, peered at Cullen over her shoulder. “Since you’re here, would you...” she bit her lip and felt guilty. He kept giving her things and now she was asking for more.

Cullen tugged off his gloves, dropped them on her work table and picked up the ceramic jar. “Of course,” he told her, crossing to the bed. He hesitated, and Wren reached back, tugging up the hem of her nightdress until it was bunched up in the middle of her back. Still, he hesitated and she looked at him.

“If you don’t-”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just… how… should I...” his ears had gone pink and Wren tried to hide her grin as she tugged the soft blanket up against her lips.

“Straddle my thighs, Knight-Captain.”

He looked and she watched him. She wore her smalls, and they covered everything. Modest and borderline prudish, she thought. “Right,” he said, his voice almost a croak. “Right.” Then he breathed and carefully tossed one leg over hers and settled his weight on his heels. “Did you like the cane?”

“Don’t be daft,” Wren mumbled, then groaned loudly when he began massaging the salve into her back. He didn’t hesitate like he had the last time. His thumbs dug into tight muscles and she all but melted into a puddle. “I love it. But you have to stop this. I’m beginning to feel like a kept woman. Oh, Gods, right there.”

Cullen didn’t speak for a few long moments and Wren sighed as his big hands slide farther up her back, his thumbs on her spine, his fingertips tickling her sides. “You do so much for others, always putting them first. More often than not you don’t even let them pay for your services.”

She’d been paid for her services before. And she thought that Cullen had likely spent far more on her than any single patron she’d had at the Rose, and he’d never even seen her naked. “But why?”

“Why not?”

His palms grazed the waistband of her smalls and she shivered. “You’re just trying to get into my good graces,” she mumbled. “Tell me… tell me something.”

“What?” Cullen asked.

“I don’t know, anything. Do you… do you have family?”

“Siblings. Two sisters and a brother. Our parents died in the blight. I haven’t seen them since I left to join the Templars.” There was a sadness to the tone of his voice, and Wren reached back with one hand, patted his knee.

“Would you tell me about them?” she asked and he did. Until she’d gone completely lax beneath his hands.

Quietly he got up, returned the container to her table, went back and dragged her nightgown down and tugged the blanket up over her. He had just needed to see her. Cullen looked at the door and frowned. He couldn’t leave without waking her, or her door would be left unlocked all night. “Take the key,” he heard her quiet mumble. Her eyes glinted in the dim candlelight. “I’ve another.”

“Are you...sure?”

Wren made a quiet humming sound, snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Come back tomorrow and stop buying me things.”

“Good night, Wren,” Cullen said, his lips curving slightly as he donned his gloves and his cloak. He found the key and blew out the candle before he slipped out of her small home.

The next day, yet another package arrived, this time a wooden folding room divider lined with delicate lace that let the light through but offered a modicum of privacy for her sleeping space. Wren sighed, resigned, she liked it though, that he bought her things. The little things in particular. Like the bunch of wildflowers that arrived one afternoon.

So began their new routine. A few times a week, Cullen would sneak over in the dead of night. Sometimes they would share a meal, sometimes a drink. Always they talked. They ignored the fact that Cullen was a Templar. Wren talked about her day, about how people were doing. Cullen told stories of his childhood. A little over a month had passed since they had begun sneaking their visits. It was all so clandestine, it gave Wren a thrill every time she heard the key slide into the lock.

She’d never had the chance to be a rebellious teenager who sneaked out. She tried to imagine herself doing it, slipping out through the window in the dead of night to hang out and drink bad beer with Cullen. Just the thought of it made Wren laugh. She and Cullen likely never would have crossed paths, even if they had grown up in the same town.

Padding across the room, her feet bare and her skin still damp from her bath, Wren put on a kettle of water and sat down to wait. The familiar sound came. The lock tumbling into place before the door opened. Cullen came in and didn’t meet her gaze, she noticed him holding a paper bag and she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing,” he said quickly as he looked up, then blushed and ducked his head again. “It’s nothing.”

“Cullen,” Wren crossed to him, caught his hand after he hung his cloak. “What’s wrong?”

Cullen looked at her, his cheeks a little pink. “Nothing, I promise, it’s just… here,” he handed her the bag and she rolled her eyes taking it.

“Another present? Cullen, really, you need to-” she broke off as she pulled the bottle from the bag. It was a bottle of wine, with gold writing, so flowing and swirling she couldn’t read it. She looked up, her brows pinched together, it looked like it was expensive. They usually just drank the mead she or someone else in Darktown made.

“I thought maybe we could try something different tonight,” he said, reaching up to rub a hand over the back of his neck.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, frowning at her own mugs. This kind of wine was meant for pretty glasses, not clay mugs but that was all she had, so she poured them each a mug and turned back to him.

Cullen’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward. “Cullen!” Wren said, a little exasperated. He was making her nervous and she didn’t know why. Butterflies fluttered in her belly.

“It’s dumb,” he said, shaking his head. He took the mug. “It’s just, my name day.” Cullen shrugged and crossed to the table.

Wren stared after him, frowning. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would have-I don’t have anything for you. You should be out celebrating with friends.”

You’re the only friend I have, they were words that begged for her pity, so he bit them back. “You’re the only one I wanted to spend it with,” Cullen told her as he sat down and looked at her. “Being able to spend time with you, that is present enough for me.”

For a moment, Wren just stood there, watching him, and then she hummed quietly, her lips curving as she finally crossed to the table. “Hm, present enough?” she looked pointedly at the gifts he’d bought her that decorated her home. “And if I told you that, would you stop buying me things?”

Cullen smiled at her. “Of course not.”

She laughed, pressed her bare foot against his thigh under the table. Then she leaned forward, held her mug up between them. “Cheers then.”

Cullen leaned forward, mimicking her pose. They clanked mugs, both took a sip. “Oh, that is good,” Wren said peering into the mug. Cullen preferred the honey mead to the fruity wine, but he was glad that Wren liked it. After all, he had picked it out with her in mind. Maker, but he was a fool for her. The nights spent with her were a lifeline for him in the chaos that he endured every day.

Everything within the circle seemed to be escalating day by day. Rumors of blood magic and cruelties against the mages. Too few seemed to care. Cullen had made a vow in joining the Templars, but more and more every day, he wanted to forsake the promise he’d made and leave it all behind.

“Hey.” Warm fingers curled over the back of his hand. “You okay?” Wren’s head canted to the side as she looked at him, concern in her eyes.

“Long day,” he said with a shake of his head. He wouldn’t tell her. Couldn’t. If she knew, would she blame him? Hold him responsible for it? Cullen closed his eyes for a moment, saw the body of the young mage. Broken and beaten and left in a public corridor where she was discovered by a handful of the youngest mages in the circle as they hurried from one class to another.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment, then she withdrew, took another drink of the wine and then got to her feet. “Alright, take your shirt off.”

“What?” Cullen blinked up at her, startled and a bit horrified.


	16. Chapter 16

“Wren-” Cullen barely managed to choke out her name through the panic. She wasn’t trying to suggest…? He heard her laugh quietly as she made her way over to her work table. She picked up a bottle, then turned and waved her hand in a ‘come on, hurry up’ gesture. Cullen could feel how hot his cheeks were. He wasn’t sure if all the blood had rushed to his head, or farther south, but he felt a bit light-headed. “You don’t mean-”

“You’ve seen me in my smalls, had your hands all over my back, I think you can take off your shirt and let me put my hands on you.” She waggled her brows at him and Cullen realized she was doing it on purpose.

“You’re a brat,” he said and she grinned at him.

“Come on, Name day boy. I may not be able to work out any knots, but I can at least help you relax.” He hesitated for a moment, wasn’t sure he could turn any redder, and then finally, stood. He downed the rest of the wine in his mug, saw her eyes widen slightly, and then he yanked his shirt over his head. He regretted it the moment the fabric hit the floor as her eyes locked on his now bare chest.

Cullen had scars. Silvered lines of flesh from the torture he endured at the hands of the demons and there were more on his back. “Go lay down,” she jerked her chin toward the bed. “It’s the least I can do, after the nights you’ve done it for me.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” He told her and she shook her head a little.

“Just let me do this.”

Hesitating for a moment longer, Cullen finally moved toward her bed. He sat and unlaced his boots, not wanting to get her blankets dirty. He could see her through the screen as she walked over to the table, picked up her own mug and drank deeply, before stepping around the screen. “Wren, you don’t-”

“Just lay down, Knight-Captain,” she said as she sunk down onto her knees beside him and shoved at his shoulder.

Finally, Cullen did as she said and she shuffled down and tossed a leg over him until her slight weight settled against his rear. He rested his cheek against her pillow and drew in a breath, able to smell her soap and the earthy scent that she seemed to radiate. “Maker!” he gasped at the feel of the cold oil dripping onto his back.

“Sorry,” she said, but he heard the smile in her voice. Then her hands were there, slick with oil and so warm and small. Up and over his shoulders, down his spine. Her fingertips grazed his sides and he jerked. “Ticklish?” she asked, and he shot her a narrowed eyed look over his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare.”

Wren grinned impishly but resisted. “Tell me, when you were a child, what did you do to celebrate?”

Cullen did his best to focus on her words, to not be distracted by the fact that her small hands were on him, touching him. He shouldn’t have said anything about it being his name day, shouldn’t have brought the wine. But he hadn’t celebrated a name day since he’d left to join the Templars.

“Cullen?” her voice was gentle as her hands worked up over the curve of his shoulder and up the back of his neck. He barely bit back the groan of pleasure. _Maker, this was a mistake._ He shouldn’t have agreed to this. “Hey,” she murmured, leaning forward, and he felt the brush of the fabric of her nightshirt against his skin. _Oh, Andraste preserve him_ , her bare thighs, her knees grazed his sides. “You still with me?”

“Yeah,” it was a croak. He coughed, cleared his throat, desperately wanted to shift his hips to relieve the pressure against his now aching erection. “Yeah.” Her question. She’d asked him a question. “We didn’t do much, mother would make a treat, something sweet that we didn’t often get, and whoever’s day it was, got out of one chore. There was usually a gift or two, but mostly it was treated as any other day.”

Wren hummed quietly, continued to work her hands along his back. Cullen was fairly certain he’d never felt anything quite so wonderful. “That sounds nice,” she murmured.

“Did you have any traditions like that growing up?” She didn’t say anything for a moment and Cullen worried that he shouldn’t have asked. Her mother had died when Wren was very young, but surely, the woman who raised her hadn’t been cold?

“You’ll think badly of Lanasa.”

Cullen turned his head farther, angling so he could peer at her over his shoulder. He felt her fingers trace a scar. “Tell me,” he murmured.

Wren glanced up, met his gaze and then looked away again. “Just once. Lanasa told me it was the only thing she could give me that would have any true meaning. When I was seven. We went to my father’s house. I knocked on the door and the way he looked at me-” her breath hitched. Cullen hoped that she would tell him the man’s name, where he lived because Cullen wanted to track him down. “Lanasa played it off as if she were trying to get rid of me. Willing to make a deal. They went into the other room. I listened with my ear pressed to the door, I heard him beg for mercy. He wept.

“She killed him. Slit his throat. I only caught a glimpse of the puddle of blood, she wouldn’t let me in the room. Lanasa took my hand and we left and never spoke of it again.” Wren’s hands had gone still, just resting on his back. “She loved me, I know that she did. But being left alone with a child, she had no idea what to do with me.” Wren rubbed away a tear that rolled down her cheek with the back of her hand and forced out a laugh. “Gods, that was depressing.”

Cullen reached back, let his fingertips graze her knee. “Why don’t we go finish that bottle of wine,” he suggested, his voice gentle.

Wren met his gaze and gave a jerky nod. “Sure,” she said, scrambling off of him. He watched her gather the bottle of oil and carry it to her work table, wiping away another stray tear. Cullen tugged his tunic back over his head and filled their mugs once more. He held the mug out to Wren and when she took it, he tucked his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“I don’t think badly of Lanasa,” he murmured. “I’m glad for it. That man-” he broke off. “I was trying to figure out how I could track him down so I could see that he would pay for how he made you suffer.” He watched as the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed and she seemed to lean closer. Cullen reached up and tucked a lock of hair back from her face.

“But why?” she asked quietly.

Cullen wanted to tell her, to pour his heart out and admit that he loved her. But he was terrified of her reaction, afraid she’d be disgusted, refused to see him. “I care,” he said quietly. “You are my friend when I honestly can’t figure out why you allow me to continue to come around. You give and give, your time, your energy, and you never ask for anything in return. You deserve so much more.”

Wren ducked her head, withdrawing she walked around to sit back down in her usual spot at the table. Cullen sat as well and for a few moments, they sat in silence, sipping their wine. “You don’t have to keep buying me things. That isn’t why… that isn’t why I keep letting you come around. You’re my friend, too. As much as it pains me to admit that I might actually like a _Templar_ ,” she smiled a little, reached her hand across the table to run her fingertip along the knuckles of Cullen’s hand that was curled around his mug. “When Rory-” she pursed her lips together. They hadn’t talked about him. “It broke my heart to think you were like them. That you would be so cruel. I-”

She sunk her teeth into her lower lip and Cullen wasn’t sure what to say, so he turned his hand, curled his fingers around hers. She held his gaze for a long time and then she pulled her hand back, stood and came around the table. Cullen watched her, his brow knit together. “Scoot back,” Wren said, pushing at his shoulder and Cullen obeyed. Then she was standing there between his legs.

Delicate fingertips touched his stubbled jaw, and he stared up into her eyes. The deep turquoise darker than usual. He found it hard to breathe with her so close. The heat of her body warm through their thin clothing. Surely, she didn’t mean to- Wren leaned closer, their breath mingled, but she never broke their gaze. “I’m glad you’re here,” she murmured.

“Wren-” his voice was barely a breath of sound. He wanted to reach for her, drag her closer and push her away.

“Happy birthday, Cullen,” she spoke the words quietly, her lips almost on his. Cullen held his breath, one of her hands slid into his hair, cupping the back of his head and then soft as a down feather, her lips brushed against the corner of his mouth. Then the other side. Then her eyes slid shut and the world fell away as Wren pressed her mouth to his.

He didn’t know what to do, where to put his hands that were now clenched into fists on his thighs. Her lips were so gentle and full against his. Her hands small and fragile. Wren pulled back, just a fraction, their lips still touching as her eyes fluttered open. “Aren’t you going to kiss me back, Knight-Captain?”

“I-I don’t know-I’ve never- Wren,” her name came out a desperate sound and she smiled so tenderly that Cullen’s heart ached.

“I suspected,” she murmured, tilted her head and rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “Kiss me,” she breathed, her lips against his again and he obeyed. It was slow and sweet and heat built inside of Cullen’s chest. He heard her moan quietly, realized he’d gripped her hips, one hand twisting into a fist around the cotton of her chemise.

Wren’s arms wound around his shoulders, her chest pressed against his, her breasts full against the hardness of his chest. Then he felt the lick of her tongue on his lower lip. He inhaled sharply, surprised at the sensation that seemed to shoot pleasure through his body straight down to his now aching erection. Cullen wanted her. No, he needed her. He needed her spread out before him, moaning his name.

He slid one hand up her back, tangled it in the slightly damp curls at the back of her neck. “Wren,” he said, tearing his mouth away. Her lips were on his jaw, leaving a trail of damp warmth to his ear. He tugged gently at her hair, she moaned and the primal need to claim her as his own nearly wiped out every single other thought in his mind. He tugged again, forcing her to look at him.

Her lips were kiss swollen, dark red and damp. Her eyes heavy-lidded and warm. “Not like this,” he murmured. Her brow furrowed and then she glanced toward the wooden screen that hid her bed. “No, Wren, it’s too fast. It’s too much. I can’t-” he broke off with a shake of his head. “I want you,” he told her, releasing his hold on her hair to trace his fingers along her cheek. Wren leaned into the touch, rubbed against it. “But, we’re drunk and this is too fast.” He knew that neither of them were even all that tipsy anymore, but it was the best excuse.

There was a quiet nagging thought in the back of his mind, that she didn’t actually want him, that Wren was only doing this because she felt that she owed him for what he’d done for her. “Okay,” she murmured quietly, turning her head she pressed a kiss against his palm. “Okay,” she said again and withdrew. Immediately, Cullen regretted his decision, he missed the heat of her, wanted her back, desperately.

“I should go,” he said, pushing to his feet. It was very late, and he would be lucky if he even managed an hour of sleep before he had to start his day.

“Alright,” Wren said. She followed him to the door and Cullen drew on his cloak and pulled open the door. Stepping out onto her front porch, he felt her hand slide into his. “Cullen,” she whispered, stepping out with him.

“Go back inside,” he said frowning down at her bare feet. “You’ll freeze.”

She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. Wren reached up and tugged his hood up over his head, and then up on the very tips of her toes, she brushed her lips against his. It took every ounce of his willpower not to wrap his arms around her, press her against the door frame and pour himself into her. “Good night,” she murmured against his lips and then she stepped back, slipped inside and peered at him through the crack in the door as she started to close it.

“Wren,” he said her name, then smiled a little. “Good night,” he echoed her words and then ducked his head and hurried down the dark street.


	17. Chapter 17

Cullen had slipped through dark hallways and into his quarters. He was exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. He could still taste the sweetness of her lips on his. Feel the phantom warmth of her pressed against him. Tugging his tunic over his head, he pulled off his boots and collapsed onto his cot. He’d dream of her, he hoped. But he didn’t get the chance. A tentative knock came, then another, a little harder. “Knight-Captain?” a voice from the other side.

“What?” he barked, frustrated and tired.

“Ser, there’s… there’s another body.”

Dread ripped away all the warmth Cullen had felt and replaced it with a cold ache. “Just a moment,” he rasped out, climbing off his bed. With practiced quickness, Cullen pulled on his armor and then opened the door. It was a Templar, a recruit just a year or so younger than Cullen. “Show me,” Cullen said.

“I just-I just found her.” His voice was tremulous as he led Cullen down a hallway, then another, to the closed door of a rarely used room. “I think she’s been there a while.”

“What were you doing here?”

The young man ducked his head, cheeks flushing red. “I’m not on shift,” he said. “I wasn’t neglecting my duties, Knight-Captain. It’s just that I share a room with several others and sometimes it’s hard to-” He’d gone even more red.

If the circumstances were anything else, Cullen would have been amused. “Understood,” he said with a nod and then looked back at the door. He drew in a breath, opened the door and the smell hit him first. How could no one have noticed this before? Standing just on the other side, the stench of death hadn’t been present. But the moment he crossed the threshold.

_Magic_ , he thought. _Some kind of spell? A ward?_ Then he saw her. A Tranquil. Bile burned his throat. The brutality of it. It was obviously done by the same person or persons who had committed the other crimes. Rage filled him. Was it a Templar? Or a mage? The few clues he had pointed to magic being used, but it felt wrong.

He wouldn’t rest until he got to the bottom of it. He would see that a curfew was implemented. Doors locked. Guards in every hallway. But if it were a Templar who was responsible? Bile burned his throat. This was not what he’d joined to be a part of. Not this brutality. This cruelty.

He spent the day going over every inch of the other locations where the other bodies were found. Seeking out any clue. Tensions rose between the two factions within the Circle and he heard the whispers.

_Make them all Tranquil, this won’t be a problem._

_Run, we’re better off dead if we try to escape, rather than in here._

Desperately, he wanted to go to Wren, to go to her, find comfort with her. He imagined she’d storm the doors and crack every Templar on the head with her cane while shouting for the mages to flee.

She had smiled at him, kissed him, touched him so gently he swore he could still feel phantoms of her fingers on his jaw. If he told her what was happening within these stone walls, he didn’t imagine she would ever smile at him again.

He didn’t sleep. He looked over the bodies with Jacques, the old man who ran the infirmary. Saw the aching sadness in his eyes as he tended to the women with gentle hands.

Late the next morning, Cullen shook his head sadly as he stared down at yet another body. Another woman. Another Tranquil. In broad daylight, splayed out on the steps of the Chantry. He didn’t know what to do. Not all of the victims had been Tranquil. He’d have suspected it was meant to be some sort of message. Death is better than Tranquility, were it not for the state of them. It made him feel ill.

Crouching down beside the woman, a thin blanket concealing her nudity, he studied her face. He recognized her. She’d only recently been made Tranquil. Punishment for trying to escape, wasn’t it?

But had she really? _Maker_. Cullen remembered seeing her in the hallway. The fear that had radiated off of her. She’d kept her head down, shied away from any attention. Another Templar had been there.

Cullen closed his eyes for a moment. Wasn’t that the incident that started all of this? What about that had made him suspect that she was trying to flee? The nervous energy. The darting looks.

The Templar.

It was what had started Cullen’s investigation.

She hadn’t been trying to escape. She hadn’t been afraid of Cullen. One look. She’d given him a look of pleading desperation, but Cullen had been so caught up in his own mind, his own distrust. This was his fault.

They hadn’t kept her safe. No one had protected her. She’d been punished and become an easier target for every Templar who enjoyed inflicting pain. Shame washed over Cullen because he didn’t even know her name. _This is my fault and I am so very sorry_.

_Morelli_. That was who she’d been afraid of in that dark corridor. Templar Thomas Morelli.

_Wren_.

It was early and Wren yawned as she made her way across the room to her door to answer the soft knock. Cullen hadn’t come the night before, but still, she’d laid awake in her bed, hoping that he would. She had teased him, she’d kissed him. Gods, she couldn’t believe that she had kissed him. Reaching up, she traced her fingertip along her lower lip and a quiet sigh escaped her. She had enjoyed teasing him, just to see his cheeks turn pink, the way he’d duck his head.

He _wanted_ her. Her!

Gods, it didn’t make sense. None of it did. Because she wanted him too. A Templar. A stupid Templar who it seemed like just a few months ago, she loathed. But he’d wormed his way in, past all that hatred. _Stupid Templar,_ she thought, but not with bitterness, or anger but rather a fond sort of warmth.

Drawing open the door a crack she peered out at the man on her front step. He looked familiar, but she was certain she’d never seen him before. Hair ragged and shaggy around his face. His cheeks were sunken in and he was filthy. First, her mind went to Andre, the addict who’d come demanding black lotus months ago. But he’d been doing better, he’d relapsed twice, but in the lucid moment’s he’d admitted to having been doing it for well over a decade.

But this man, no, she – he grinned at her and her blood ran cold. She tried to slam the door, but he pushed it open hard enough that she stumbled backward. “Did you really think you were rid of me?” Templar Thomas Morelli sneered at her.

“No,” Wren spat, fingers grabbing for her cane that had rested against the wall beside the door. “But I had truly hoped you were dead in some cave somewhere.” She brought it up, swung, but he blocked the blow with his hand. She heard something crunch, a cracking sound and it _wasn’t_ her cane. A split second of relief that vanished just as quickly.

“Bitch!” he wrenched it from her grasp with his other hand twisting until she couldn’t keep a hold on it. Morelli tossed the cane aside and backhanded her hard across the face. Blood filled her mouth. “He can’t protect you. Can’t keep you safe. I wish I could be here to see his face when he finds your lifeless body. It’ll destroy him. His pretty little _whore_ ,” he spat the word, sneered at her, “just like all the others. What a sight it would be. But he’ll be too late, he won’t figure it out. I laid it out all too perfectly.”

“You’re a fucking piece of shit,” she told him, taking a step back, then another. _Others?_ She thought horrified. Other women that Morelli had raped? Killed? Gods.

Thomas grinned, shoved the center of her chest, hard, she stumbled backward, fell and she was certain she heard something crack again, this time in her lower back, and then her head bounced against the hard floor. She was disoriented for a long moment as the pain seemed to take over her entire body. Wren blinked and Morelli came into focus again, he was opening his trousers, taking himself in hand and he began stroking himself as he watched her.

Wren pushed up as much as she could, scrambling backward, despite the fact that her legs didn’t seem to be working. “All those dead mages,” he told her. “And you, the final piece.” Morelli sunk down to his knees curled a hand around her ankle and yanked. The pain exploded through her, from ankle to thigh, up her spine. Her vision when white with it and as if from a distance, she heard herself scream.

Cullen was running before the thought had even fully processed. Morelli had been playing with him. All these months of quiet and then suddenly, each of these women, Cullen knew had to have been Morelli’s victims. _And Wren_.

What if he was too late?

Wren was strong. She could fight back. She _would_ fight back. He wouldn’t accept anything less. He pushed himself harder. Ran faster, his armor a heavy weight that slowed him down, rattled loudly with every pounding step.

Her door was closed. Everything appeared normal from the outside. The door hadn’t been broken down or kicked in. Cullen wanted to pound on it, but if Morelli was in there if he was hurting her-

Cullen fumbled for the key. Quietly as he could, he slipped it in, his hands shaking as he turned the knob.

The metallic scent of blood hit him. The foul stench of death. His eyes burned with tears. _Too late._ He pushed open the door. Red stained the floor. A thick puddle of it and in the center – _Not Wren._

Thomas Morelli lay, sprawled on his back, trousers halfway down his thighs, in a vulgar display of what he’d done. There was so much blood. And Wren’s dagger protruded from the still man’s chest.

A trail of blood led to the partially closed washroom door. “Wren?” his voice cracked. There was so much blood. Even if she had fought back, what if Cullen was still too late? The blood was thick and sticky and even as he tried to step around it, he felt his boot squelch into the oozing puddle. “Wren,” he said her name again, slowly pushing open the door.

More blood on the floor. A dragging trail. Blood smeared on the side of the tub, handprints of it. Wren sat in the tub, trembling, shaking. Her cream-colored nightshirt stained red with blood. He took a step forward. A broken scream escaped her, and she flinched, lifted her hands up and turned her face away.

Cullen fell to his knees beside her. “Wren,” her name was an anguished breath as he ripped off his gloves and gingerly reached out for her. “Wren, sweetheart, Wren.” She sat in a few inches of water tinged red from all the blood. Her nightgown was bunched up around her waist, naked beneath it, he saw the blood streaking her thighs, her knees.

All Cullen wanted was to kill Morelli.

“C-c-Cullen?” tears streamed down Wren’s face.

No, that wasn’t all he wanted. “Sweetheart,” he breathed, carefully cupping her face. Bruised and swollen. Her lip was split. “You’re safe, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he murmured, trying to reassure her. “You’re safe now.”


	18. Chapter 18

Cullen would take care of her. Then, he’d take care of the body in the other room. “How badly are you hurt?” he asked softly, afraid to raise his voice. _Drain the tub_ , he thought. _Fill it with warm water._ She could bathe, clean up. Fresh tears stung the backs of his eyes. _Too late. He had been too late._ _He hadn’t been able to keep her safe._

“I-I killed-” her voice was a hoarse rasp and he took in the dark bruises around her throat on her jaw.

“Shh,” Cullen quieted her, pushing her hair back from her face, so careful of where he touched her. “Everything is going to be okay. I’ll get you a bath, a hot one, so you can clean up. Some of that tea for the pain,” because Maker, she _must_ be in pain. “And you’ll stay in here and I’ll take care of everything.” He wasn’t exactly sure how. But he would. “You still have some of that tea, don’t you?” Anders. He needed someone to go and get Anders.

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip and then she winced, her tongue touching the split and Cullen wanted to sigh. “Wren? Do you have any of it left?” He didn’t want to leave her. But she’d need it, he’d have to. He would have to take care of Morelli too.

“Don’t be mad,” her voice was wet with tears.

“Sweetheart,” he cupped her jaw, tilted her face up so he could press his forehead against hers. “I know you. I knew you’d give it away, why else do you think I bought you so much of it? But you must be hurting, if you have none left, I’ll go get more.”

She sniffed, tears streaking down her cheeks and Cullen brushed them away with the backs of his knuckles. “There are a few packages.”

His smile was tender. “Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll get the pot of water going.” Even stepping out of the small washroom was hard. Turning his back on her. He drew the door partway closed, so she wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the body as he crossed to the stove. He built the fire, put on the kettle. He’d have to fill the big pot to boil it for her bath.

His armor rattled and he looked down at it, down at the emblem on his chest. The one he’d been so proud to wear. Glancing back at Morelli, his lip curled and he stripped out of his armor, putting it in a corner, out of sight. The knock on the door had him jumping nearly out of his skin. He hadn’t latched the lock when he’d come in. Cullen darted across the room just as it started to push open. “Wren?” Mathari called as her slight face appeared.

Cullen grabbed the door, blocked it. Mathari looked up, startled then confused. “Cullen?” she frowned. “Where is Wren?”

“She’s fine, Mathari. She’s okay. But, do you still have your dagger?” The dagger he’d given her weeks ago. He didn’t like her wandering around Darktown unarmed.

“Of course,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. He saw the belt, the sway of the sheath at her hip. Just as Wren wore hers.

“Can you do me a favor? Go and fetch Olan?” Olan would know who would help. They may hate Cullen, but they all adored Wren. They wouldn’t spite her just because of him, would they?

“What’s going on?” Mathari demanded, small and fierce and Cullen couldn’t help but smile down at her.

“Wren was hurt, but she’s alright. You can see her when you get back. For now, please, Mathari, do this for me? For Wren?”

She rocked from one foot to the other then huffed. “Fine,” she said and then she was gone.

Cullen closed and locked the door, picked up the pot and headed back for the washroom. “Wren?” he called softly. “Can I come in? I need to fill the pot with water.”

“Yeah,” her voice wavered and Cullen hesitated for a moment, then pushed open the door.

Still, she sat in the tub, the water had drained out, leaving thin trails of red. “Sweetheart,” he murmured setting aside the pot. The trembling was worse. Cold? Or was it fear? Shock? “Do you need help getting out of the tub?” he asked and she gave a jerk of her head, refusing to meet his gaze. Kneeling down beside her, Cullen skimmed his knuckles under her jaw. “Wren, look at me, please?”

She did, and he saw the tears, the splatter of blood on her cheek that she’d tried to wash away. “I’ve got you, alright?”

Wren felt frozen to her core. She had killed. She was covered in Morelli’s blood. Soaked through with it. Stained. What would her punishment be? They would toss her in a cell. Cullen wouldn’t be able to protect her from that. They wouldn’t care that she had been defending herself. Would they? “I’ve got you, alright?” Cullen’s words were so soft, so gentle. Gods, this man, he was so kind. “I’m going to take care of it, Wren,” he reassured her as he crouched beside the tub. He held her gaze as he hooked one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back.

Ignoring her nudity, her nightgown up around her hips, wet and clinging, nearly transparent. “I’ve got you,” he murmured again, this time soft as he touched his forehead to her temple and lifted her.

She cried out. Couldn’t help it. The pain that ricocheted along her spine had her gasping. Wren had no idea how she had managed to get into the tub. She knew that she hadn’t stepped into it. Crawled and flopped, flailing and desperate.

“Wren? Sweetheart,” he set her down quickly on the floor beside the tub. He cursed, quietly, vehemently. She’d never heard him speak like that and it was jarring. “How badly-” his voice broke and for the first time since he’d appeared in the doorway, Wren really looked at him, saw him. Tears in his eyes. Regret.

Reaching out, she took his face between her hands, cupped it. He’d come. He’d come for her. “Nothing that tea and a hot bath won’t fix,” she told him, and they both knew it for the lie it was. Wren would have to go see Anders, or, more likely, see if someone could bring him here.

“Right,” Cullen said and then he withdrew, he filled the pot and slipped from the bathroom again. He returned a few short minutes later, steaming teacup in hand, blanket in the other. The blanket he’d bought her what seemed like a lifetime ago, that now bore a dark stain on one corner. “Drink,” he said, holding out the cup.

Just as she’d taught him, just a sip of water, that scorched her tongue and burned her throat. “You need to get out of that,” he said, nodding to the bloodstained shift. Cullen set the blanket down at her feet. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he said.

“Wait,” Wren said quickly, her hand darting out to curl around his. “I… help, please?” She’d tried to get out of it already, hadn’t she? The thin strap was torn. Had she done that? Or had _he_? Cullen hadn’t shut the door as much this time, blinking, she saw past him, saw the body. Saw the man she’d killed.

She half expected him to turn his head, look at her accusing. Get up and come after her, finish the job he’d started.

Cullen cursed again, kicked the door shut and sunk down onto his knees beside her. He had stripped out of his armor she realized. No longer her worst nightmare. Wren noticed the tremor in his hands as he raked them through his hair. “Cullen,” she breathed his name, reached out and curled her fingers in the front of his tunic, in the collar, her knuckles brushing against his throat. “Not exactly how you imagined getting me naked, is it?”

For a moment there was stunned silence and then a flicker of rage and then he just sighed and she tugged him closer and pressed her forehead against his collarbone. “I promised you I’d keep you safe,” he said, careful hand cupping her head. “I failed you. Wren,” his voice cracked. “I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t fail me, Cullen,” Wren told him, curling an arm around his waist. “You didn’t,” she repeated when he scoffed. “I stabbed him. I-” she swallowed. “I killed him. You didn’t fail me, because I had that dagger you gave me that I sleep with every night.” angling her head back, she looked up at him. “This is his blood. Not mine.” Her tongue touched the split of her lip.

Wren waited for the wash of guilt, the regret. She had taken a life. She’d thought about it before, but only in passing. Would have killed in a heartbeat to protect anyone else. Isn’t that what she’d done though? Morelli said there were others. She hadn’t protected them, but she’d save scores of future victims. Wren was _glad_ she’d killed him. “I didn’t recognize him when I opened the door,” she said, then breathed slowly as she shifted forward, trying to dislodge her nightgown from beneath her.

Cullen’s hands were there, so careful. He lifted, tugged gently at the wet fabric. “I tried to slam the door on his face, someday, that will work,” she laughed quietly, a little bitterly. “I hit him with my cane,” Wren angled her head up to look at Cullen’s face, his brow pinched in concentration as he dragged her shift up. She lifted her arms, and a few moments later she was free of it, it hit the floor with a wet plop and then the blanket was around her. “I think I broke his hand.”

“Good,” Cullen said, drawing the blanket around her shoulders, using it to cover as much of her as he could. “Too bad you didn’t crack his skull.”

“Hmm,” Wren smiled at the thought. “That would have been preferred. He pushed me, I… I fell.” She didn’t want to voice what happened next, it would make it real. She couldn’t just keep pretending she was sitting on the floor because she wanted to be there. That she sat there because Cullen fussed over her and she liked it, though, admittedly, she realized she _did_ like the way he was fussing. “I heard something crack when I fell. I hit my head, but… I think something broke.” Sensation in her right leg felt strange. Not numb, but not altogether normal. “In my back,” she amended at the look on Cullen’s face.

“We’ll get you to Anders,” he said without a single hesitation, seemingly without a thought. The Templar, the man who had such a deep loathing of mages and magic, had just she’d he’d take her to see an Apostate. Wren wasn’t sure she could take much more emotion.

Wren took Cullen’s face between her hands, tugged him closer until foreheads touched.

_She was so close. She kicked out, despite the pain that stole her breath and scrambled back farther. Her fingers curled in the blankets. Just a bit farther. “I’m going to enjoy every second of this,” Morelli said, his hand, rough and grabbing as it slid up her leg, pushing her nightshirt up until it bunched around her waist. He grabbed hold of her smalls and yanked and Wren let him. Let him be distracted as she slid her hand up beneath her pillow. Her fingers curled around the cool metal. Morelli shoved her thighs apart with his knees and a tear rolled down Wren’s cheek. He leaned down over her, curling his hand around her throat, tight and bruising. His breath hot on her ear. “Don’t worry, he’ll barely recognize you when I’m done.”_

_Holding tight to the grip of the dagger, Wren tried to draw in a breath. “I’m not worried,” she rasped and plunged the dagger up between them. It caught on fabric, she felt the scrape of bone as she hit his ribs. He tried to jerk back, but Wren shoved at him. Using his own momentum to push him onto his back. She straddled him, yanked the blade out and drove it in again and again. Until the tip of the blade caught, she tried to pull free, but it stuck._

_Morelli was unmoving beneath her. Eyes wide, hands limp at his sides, blood trickled from his lips But mostly, it covered her hands, the front of him, pooled thick around her knees. “Oh, gods,” Wren felt a warm trickle of blood drip down her cheek. Bile burned her throat and she pushed back, collapsed beside him and a sob broke through. “Oh, gods,” she choked out again and dragged herself into the bathroom. She had to get clean. Had to wash off the blood._

She left out the most graphic of details. Didn’t tell him exactly what Morelli had said, how he planned to brutalize her. “I don’t regret it,” she murmured.

“I do,” Cullen said with a slight shake of his head. “But only that he should have suffered more. At least half as much as-” he broke off.

“The others? He said there were others.”

Cullen rubbed his hand over his mouth as he withdrew, away from her, from her touch. “I should have seen it sooner,” he said getting to his feet. “I’ll go check the water.” He walked out of the small room, and Wren barely bit back a sigh. He returned with the steaming pot, poured it into the tub, refilled it and slipped out again. He didn’t come back immediately and Wren hated that she was trapped. Sitting on the floor unable to go anywhere.

“Cullen?” she called and he was there, her cane in his hand. He leaned it against the wall and peered down at her. “There is a bottle up there,” she pointed to one of the small shelves on the wall. “Top shelf, middle, nope, the other, that one.” He plucked it down and she offered him a small smile. “Would you pour some into the tub for me?”

He crouched down beside the tub, poured until she told him to stop and then corked the bottle and set it aside. “I’m going to take care of it, Wren,” he said, casting a slight glance over his shoulder to the main room. “I’ll take care of it, but I want you to stay in here. Mathari, she wanted to see you. She came by and I asked her to go and get Olan. I won’t ask anything of him, I just want someone here-”

Wren slid her hand over his that rested on the edge of the tub. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take care of it,” he said again and she frowned at him. “Everything will be… fine.”

“Cullen,” Wren said, squeezing his hand. “Don’t do something stupid, promise me you aren’t going to do something stupid.”

He looked at her, reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “He should have been stopped a long time ago, none of this ever should have happened.”

Wren leaned into the touch, rubbed her good cheek against his hand. “If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t know you.”


	19. Chapter 19

Cullen felt as if his heart had been wrenched in two. She had suffered, as had others. But, if Morelli hadn’t singled Wren out, Cullen wouldn’t know her, wouldn’t have fallen heartrendingly in love with her. Wouldn’t have seen the atrocities that Templars committed laid out before him. There was a pounding knock on the front door. “That’s likely Mathari, and hopefully, Olan. Do you want to see Mathari? She’s worried about you.”

“I don’t want her to,” Wren gestured to the other room.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t see anything,” Cullen reassured her.

“Then, yes. Since I’m banished to the washroom while you- Gods, Cullen what are you going to do?”

The knocking came again and Cullen leaned in, pressed his lips to her forehead and then he was gone. Distantly, Wren heard the voices, the door shut and Cullen came back, pouring the pot of boiling water into the tub. He left once more, and a few moments later he was there, with Mathari, her eyes squinched shut, one hand out in front of her, the other Cullen held.

Wren had been able to shift forward enough to pump cold water into the tub, tempering the hot water Cullen had brought in. “Help me in?” she said and Cullen kicked the door shut, and the bathroom was far too small for all three of them. Mathari pressed up against the wall and Wren tried to smile reassuringly at her. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“But there’s-” her voice cracked. “So much blood,” it came out a tiny whisper.

Cullen crouched beside Wren, and she saw the look on his face, wondering if it was a good idea for Mathari to see what she’d seen. To know. But Mathari had endured her own hardship. “It isn’t mine,” Wren told her and hissed quietly at the hot water as Cullen lowered her into the tub. He leaned back, arms and tunic wet and Wren quickly caught one hand. “Nothing stupid, remember.”

He just gave her a half-smile that did not reach his eyes and then he was gone. Wren pursed her lips, eyes narrowing at the now closed door.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Mathari asked, inching closer to the tub.

“My back hurts, I fell. I can’t-hopefully Anders can do something about it. If not...” if not she’d just have to make due. Figure it out. “Could you help me wash my hair?” Wren asked, despite the tea for the pain, her entire body still ached. “Soap is there,” she said, lifting her hand from the water to point at the thick bar on the edge of the sink. Blood was caked under her nails, in the creases of her knuckles. She’d crawled through it, practically swam. Bile burned her throat suddenly and she wondered if that memory would ever fade? The sticky warm slide of it on her skin.

“Here,” Mathari held out the soap and then shifted so that she stood behind Wren. “Of course I’ll help, and Anders, he’ll fix what ever is wrong. I’m sure of it,” Mathari said, her voice positive, but they both knew better than anyone else, Anders’ healing couldn’t fix everything.

Cullen stood, staring down at Morelli’s body, Olan at his side, his arms over his chest. “Well,” Olan said.

“I’ll take care of it,” Cullen said, an idea taking shape. Maker, he wasn’t sure how he’d pull this off. “I don’t want Wren to have to clean this up.”

“ _This_ being the body or the blood?”

“Any of it. Morelli is my problem. But if you would-” Cullen pursed his lips. This man didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, and Cullen didn’t blame him. “You care about Wren,” at least so far in that Wren was the only reason his daughter was alive. “I’ll pay, what ever it takes to clean this up, I’ll pay.”

Templar pay wasn’t much, but until Wren, Cullen hadn’t had any reason to spend most of it.

“And what are you going to do with him?”

Cullen rubbed a hand over his mouth. Face down in the harbor wouldn’t work. Not this time. “I’ll take care of it,” Cullen repeated.

“You really think you can get that body out of Kirkwall without anyone noticing?” No, Cullen didn’t think that he could. Not like this. His gaze drifted to the chest that Wren stored her prepared tonics in. “He isn’t going to fit in there,” Olan said and Cullen rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Alaros, he’d have crates.”

A quiet discussion later and Olan slipped out the door while Cullen began cleaning. The blood had soaked into the bedding, and it was likely unsalvagable. Cullen stripped it off and piled it into a corner, then stood, staring down at Morelli’s corpse. How many times had Wren stabbed him? It hadn’t been enough. This man had not suffered enough to make up for what he’d done to all those others. Rubbing his hand over his face, Cullen crouched, yanked Wren’s blade free and set it aside to clean.

Olan and Alaros arrived, wooden crate between them. Not inconspicuous at all, Cullen thought. Maker, he hoped that the people of Darktown hated Templars enough to ignore it all. Once the body was crammed into the crate, the lid nailed down, the three men looked down at the mess. “I’ll see to this,” Olan said.

“Cullen?” Wren’s voice called, muffled from the other side of the door.

He crossed the room quickly, opened the door a crack. “What do you need?”

“Help?” she asked. “I can’t- gods damn it.” Cullen pushed open the door, Mathari stood beside the tub, her clothes damp while Wren sat in the tub, a towel wrapped haphazardly around herself. “We tried, but I-” she made a quiet frustrated sound. “I can’t.”

“I’ve got you,” he told her quietly, crossing to her, after closing the door, and then he bent down and almost effortlessly, lifted her from the too-small tub and carefully set her back down onto the blanket that now lay folded up on the floor. Cullen brushed his fingertips along her jaw and she looked up at him.

“This is ridiculous, Cullen-”

“Just let me do this, Wren, everything will be alright. Do either of you need anything? I’ll be gone for a little while, but Olan will be out there.”

Wren’s fingers curled in the front of Cullen’s tunic and held on. “Cullen-”

He leaned in and pressed the softest of kisses to the crown of her head and then he stood up. “I won’t be long,” he promised and then he was out the door, closing it behind him.

Wren didn’t know how much time passed, but it felt like hours. They talked and sometimes listened to the quiet noises coming from the other side of the door. “I killed him,” Wren admitted. “The Templar.”

“Does this mean Cullen is going to stop coming around again?” Mathari asked as she sat legs folded in front of her, next to Wren.

“I don’t know what is going to happen,” Wren told her quietly. Finally, there was a quiet knock on the door and Cullen’s voice on the other side before it slowly opened. He stood there, a little disheveled, his nose and cheeks a little pink, Wren imagined from the cold of being outside. A dark stain on the sleeve of his tunic that Wren knew was blood.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Cullen said once more and Wren desperately wanted to believe him. He left the door open, and beyond him, there was no body. No pool of blood. He crouched and gathered Wren up into his arms and lifted her off the hard floor before carrying her into the main room.

Her breath left her in a quiet whoosh as she stared at the transformation. “Cullen-” her voice broke.

“Olan did it, so if you don’t like it, blame him,” the words were said with quiet amusement and Wren felt a tear roll down her cheek as Cullen carried her over to the bed. An actual bed. No longer just the simple pallet on the floor, but a wooden frame, with a thick mattress and new blankets. A simple woven rug covered the floor, hiding most of where she knew the blood had pooled.

She was speechless, completely blown away that he had done this for her. “Thank you,” she managed to get out as Cullen set her down. “Olan, thank you,” she repeated, looking at the dwarven man who stood a few feet away.

“Least I could do,” he said. “Come on, kid,” he said to Mathari. “I’ll walk you home. Wren needs a visit from Anders and to rest.”

“But-” Mathari sighed, but relented. She ran across the room, hugging Wren quickly, and then Cullen as well before the two slipped out the door.

Cullen was still crouched beside the bed, his arm braced near Wren’s hip as the two left. “Tell me,” Wren said, reaching out to stroke her fingers through his golden curls.

He looked up at her, shook his head slightly. “You don’t need to know.”

“I want to know,” she insisted and Cullen sighed. He stood up and then sat down on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees.

“We- Alaros and I, got him out of Kirkwall, took him to the Wounded Coast. I made Alaros leave, Burned Morelli’s body and scattered what was left. No one will find him, and if they find any part of him? They won’t know who he is.”

Wren reached out, letting her fingers slide along his arm to his hand where she laced their fingers together. “What will you tell the Knight-Commander?” she asked quietly.

Cullen’s other hand cover hers and he held onto it between his own. “That I followed him to your place, but he escaped and I tracked him out to the coast. A confrontation ensued, and I had no other choice. He was mortally injured, but still refused to give in and jumped to his death off the cliffs.”

“Will she believe you?”

“She has no reason not to,” he told her. A few short minutes later there was a knock at the door, Cullen crossed the room and pulled it open. He stepped back to allow the three men inside. Anders barely even cast Cullen a glance as he crossed the room to where Wren sat, but Wren watched as Hawke stepped up close to Cullen. The other man was a head taller, broader in the shoulders and he wore a dark expression.

“Templar,” Hawke said, the hate evident in his tone.

“Hawke,” Cullen said, inclining his head.

Hawke and Fenris stepped inside, leaned against the wall and Cullen closed the door, stood a few feet away and the men just stared at each other. “I’m watching you,” Hawke said.

The sheer maleness in the room was almost enough to choke Wren. Ridiculous, she thought. “Cullen,” she called, but he didn’t move, just crossed his arms over his chest, caught up in the staring contest with Hawke. “Idiots,” she breathed out.

“Can you lay down on your stomach?” Anders asked and Wren huffed. “You can’t blame him, can you?”

“No, but it’s stupid,” she told him, tried to pull her legs up, but pain fired up her back and she pressed her lips together tightly. “He isn’t like the other Templars. I’d never let him in my home if I thought he was.” Anders cupped his hand under her ankles, helping her bring her legs up onto the bed.

“Cullen isn’t going to turn you in, he wouldn’t,” she kept her voice low, and as she pillowed her cheek against her hand, angling her head so she could see Cullen. Hawke had closed the distance again, the tension was growing. She couldn’t hear the words being exchanged, but Wren had a feeling that they were close to blows. “Idiots,” she whispered again and not feeling even a little bad, she cried out.

Cullen’s head jerked to the side and then he was crossing the room to her, leaving a slightly stunned Hawke behind. “Thanks,” Anders muttered quietly. “Now he’s going to glare at me thinking I’m hurting you.”

“No, he won’t,” she murmured and then Cullen was there, on his knees beside the bed, one hand gently resting against the top of her head. The other curled in the blankets and Wren wrapped her fingers around it.

“How bad is it?” Cullen asked, shooting a glance at Anders. “Can you help her?”

Anders didn’t reply immediately, and Wren glanced back at him, saw him watching Cullen, who had refocused his attention on Wren’s face. “It is bad, but I think I can heal most of the damage. Though, Wren, you’ll have to take it easy for a while, alright?”

“Sure thing,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she felt the cool healing magic seem to wrap around her hips. Wren thought she might have dozed off, between the gentle sensation of pain leaving her back, and the feel of Cullen’s fingers gently stroking her hair.

“Try sitting up,” Anders said and Wren blinked. “I’ll take care of your throat too,” he told her. Cullen leaned back and Wren drew in a breath, expecting pain, but it had been reduced to just a dull throb. She rolled over, pushed up to sit and slide her legs over the edge of the bed. “Okay?” Anders asked and Wren smiled at him. Cullen’s fingers curled around her own and she squeezed. “Good,” he said and reached up, his fingertips grazing her throat.

A hard pounding knock sounded on the door. They all froze. “Who is it?” Wren called. It was late enough that no one would come calling. Not unless it was an emergency.

There was a long silence. “Knight-Commander Meredith,” said the voice from the other side.

Wren’s breath caught in her throat. _Oh, dear Gods._


	20. Chapter 20

The knock came again, harder this time. “Shit,” Wren rasped, meeting Cullen’s gaze. Then she looked at Anders, Hawke, and Fenris. “Hide.”

“Wren,” Cullen shook his head and she turned her face back to him.

“Trust me?” She reached out for her cane, too far from where she sat. Cullen grabbed it, handed it to her and she slowly pushed up to her feet, waiting for the pain. But she was so grateful that while she ached still, she didn’t feel as if her legs would give way. “Go on,” she pushed Cullen’s shoulder, nudging him toward the too-small bathroom. Gods, how would all four of those men fit in there? Especially without killing each other. “Go,” she hissed hearing Meredith pounding her fist on the door again. “I’m coming!” Wren shouted, making her annoyance clear.

The men eyed each other, and then finally headed for the washroom. She met Cullen’s gaze, ‘nothing stupid,’ he mouthed and she gave him a small smile as she made her way across the room, before the door silently snicked shut. Wren cast a quick glance around the room, making sure nothing was in view that would give away the contents of her washroom. Then she spotted Cullen’s Templar armor, neatly piled in a corner. “Shit,” she muttered.

A fist slammed on the door again and Wren’s lip curled. “For fuck's sake!” she shouted and unlocked it before jerking it open a few inches. “What?” she snarled, staring up at the woman. Knight-Commander Meredith was an imposing woman. Tall and almost regal as she stared down her nose at Wren. “Can I help you?” The truth was, Wren was terrified of her, but she was too tired to even pretend to be meek. She was angry and just wanted a little peace and quiet.

Meredith raised a brow and leaned slightly, trying to see beyond Wren and into her home. “May I come in?” she asked and Wren let out a snort of laughter.

“No, you may not,” she bit out. “You fucking Templars, always pushing and shoving. Why would I let you in? What. Do. You. Want?” she spoke the words slowly, deliberately.

“Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford, is he here?”

Wren debated for a moment. Lie? Partial truth? Someone easily could have told that they had seen him. She imagined he hadn’t been stealthy as he ran from the Chantry to her little hovel on the edge of Darktown. “He was,” Wren said. “As was Templar Morelli.” She gave Meredith a sarcastic smile. “Left me a present,” she angled her head, showing off the bruises on her throat, “before he ran off like a coward when the Knight-Captain showed up.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve caused trouble with my Templars,” Meredith sneered and Wren’s mouth opened and then snapped shut again, completely taken aback.

“Right,” Wren finally managed to get out. “Right, it is completely my own fault that Morelli tracked me down, broke down my door and beat me. _Raped me_. I mean, quite obviously, I was begging for it. Just like the mages in the Tower. You know, the ones he murdered. I’m sure they wanted it like that. I’m sure the Maker and Andraste were smiling down on him while he cleansed the world of another sinful mage!” Meredith’s expression was impassive and Wren knew she needed to stop. The Knight-Commander might just decide to have her arrested on principle for opposing the Chantry. Wren clenched her jaw, tried to breathe through the rage. “I hope he’s dead,” she spat the words even though she knew she shouldn’t. “I hope that every single Templar, fuck, the City Guard too, I hope that every single one of them who has ever laid an unwanted finger on a mage or anyone else dies a bloody and painful death.” Wren slammed the door shut, slid the lock home and covered her mouth with her hand.

_Oh._

_Oh, Elgar’nan, what had she done?_ Wren turned, leaned her back against the door and tried to breathe. She felt lightheaded. A little dizzy. She had just screamed at the Knight-Commander. Any second, she knew it, the Knight-Commander would break down the door, she would find Cullen, and the others and they would all be killed.

The knock on the door was soft, but it made Wren flinch. She jerked away, stared at it. “Wren, Wren, open up,” the quiet voice was old and familiar, so very carefully Wren unlocked the door with trembling hands and inched it open. Madeline, the stooped old woman who lived across the way stood there. “They’re gone. All of them. Your friends best get going.”

“They?” Wren asked, and she didn’t recognize her own voice, it was so tremulous and unsteady.

“Counted ten other Templars with her.”

“Oh… oh gods,” Wren nodded. “Thank you, thank you.” Madeline nodded and Wren watched her cross the short alley to her own door before letting it slip shut. Wren was halfway across the room when the washroom door inched open a crack. Then the men poured out. “You should go, all of you, quickly, before she comes back.” Cullen was at her side in a heartbeat.

Anders crossed to her, while Hawke and Fenris moved to the door. “Let me heal your throat.”

“No,” Wren shook her head. “If… if she comes back and-” Wren could only imagine it would make everything worse. _Consorting with the Apostate!_ She imagined the Knight-Commander shouting as reasoning for her execution.

Anders's lips pursed. “Then at least let me help ease the pain. I won’t heal the bruising.” He didn’t touch her, his hands hovered just a few inches away and the relief was immediate.

“Thank you,” she murmured, reaching up with one hand to touch her collarbone. But she still felt as if she were being strangled, only now she knew it was just the fear. The terror of what was going to happen. Wren followed Anders to the door, let the men out and then leaned heavily against it once it was closed and locked again. She looked at Cullen, her jaw trembled. “You should-” he needed to go, Wren knew that. But she didn’t want him to leave her.

Cullen crossed the room in a few long strides and stood in front of her. “I’m not leaving you like this,” he said gently and Wren felt as if her chest cracked wide open. She pushed up onto her tiptoes and slid her arms around his shoulders and clung to him, desperately as the sobs came and wracked her frame. His arms slipped around her, tentative at first, and then he shifted, slipping one arm behind her knees and gathering her up against his chest.

He walked over to the bed, sat down with her legs draped over his lap and held her as she cried. “I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have said any of that,” she choked out the words.

Cullen stroked a hand down the back of her head and shushed her gently. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart, everything will be alright,” he promised, but Wren knew she’d just made everything impossibly more difficult.

Wren didn’t know how much time passed before the tears subsided, but Cullen just held her, reassuring her. “You should go,” she said softly, leaning back as she rubbed her hands over her face. Wren was a wreck, an emotional disaster. How much could one person take?

“You should eat something,” he said, ignoring her. “Maybe have some mead as well.”

“Cullen,” Wren cupped his face and looked up at him. “What if she comes back?”

He turned his head, kissed her palm and then carefully nudged her off his lap and stood. “Then I will be here,” he said and then made his way over to her small kitchen and found something for her to eat. They sat at the table and Wren only ate once she convinced Cullen to eat as well. They were quiet, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the knock at the door.

Only it didn’t come. The hour grew later. Wren yawned. “You should sleep,” Cullen said, fingers curled around hers. “How does your back feel?”

“Better. Still achy, but at least I can walk.” She got up, stretched her arms over her head, felt the pull of muscle in her back and winced and wondered not for the first time, what it would be like not to hurt all the time.

Wren disappeared into the washroom, then came back out a few minutes later, changed out of the skirt and tunic she’d put on after her bath, and into a worn long-sleeved nightdress that grazed the tops of her knees. “I could rub it for you, with the salve,” Cullen offered and she saw his cheeks go pink. “If you wanted. If you’re okay with me touching you.”

Her brow furrowed and she padded across the room to where he sat. “You’ve touched me a hundred times, why wouldn’t I-” she broke off, thought of Morelli. The blood. Wondered if Cullen still saw it when he looked at her.

Cullen tilted his head back to look up at her. “It’s not the same, not really, but, I know- Kinloch Hold. The demons. The desire demon. It...” he trailed off, breathed. “I couldn’t stand anyone to lay so much as a finger on me for a long time. I still-” the hands that Wren had slipped into his hair froze and he caught them as she started to pull away. “Your touch I like. I just wanted you to know, that I would understand. If you don’t want me to touch you.”

Wren wondered what was wrong with her, that she hadn’t even considered that. Perhaps because she’d known it was Morelli because she’d dealt with him for so long already. “I know you, Cullen Rutherford,” she spoke quietly, shifting closer to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “I trust you. Your touch, it’s comfort.” Because she knew, soul-deep, that he’d never not physically, and she thought he might rip his own heart from his chest before he intentionally hurt her otherwise. “I know you need to go, but, stay with me, just a little while longer.”

Cullen rested a careful hand on her hip. Felt the jut of bone and rubbed his thumb over it. “Go lay down, I’ll grab the salve,” he told her, his voice a little hoarse. He’d overheard the fury in her voice as she’d yelled at the Knight-Commander and Cullen was very aware of her hate towards Templars. _I trust you. Your touch, it’s comfort._ Those words gutted him.

She made her way to the bed, stretched out on her belly and watched him. He was grateful she had a proper bed now. Didn’t have to lay on the hard floor. He could never repay any of the men who had helped him for what they did today. No amount of money would suffice. He got up, grabbed the salve and walked over to sit down on the edge of the bed, his thigh against her hip.

Nudging up the back of her nightshirt he went to work, gently rubbing the salve onto her back. He felt her hand on his knee and glanced up at her. “I’m okay, Cullen,” she told him and he nodded a little, but still was so afraid he’d hurt her. He kept up the massage until long after the salve had soaked into her skin. He’d have to leave. He had to face Meredith and he was terrified of how she might think to retaliate against Wren.

Wren’s breathing was slow and even, her eyes shut and Cullen finally drew himself upright and put away the salve, he tugged down her gown, drew the blankets up over her and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Be careful,” she murmured, her voice laced with sleep.

“You too,” he replied and then crossed the room, donned his armor and stared down at the emblem on his chest. It had meant something to him, to be a Templar. But now, even more than ever he wanted to abandon it. Run and take Wren with him. Dousing the light, he slipped from her home, locking the door behind him. He stayed very aware of his surroundings but saw no one as he made his way back to the tower.

Cullen wasn’t sure if Meredith would be up still at this late hour but headed for her office all the same. The door was open, and a light burned inside. She stood, staring at a map of Thedas that was mounted on the wall. Cullen cleared his throat. “Knight-Commander,” he said, his voice as steady as he could make it.

She turned and Cullen’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. “Knight-Captain,” she said. “I am… surprised to see you.”

He swallowed, stood straighter and frowned at her. “Why is that, Knight-Commander?”

“Where is Morelli?”

“Dead, I can only assume,” Cullen told her, and then recalled the story that he’d practiced in his head what felt like thousands of times since he’d found Morelli dead in a pool of his own blood, with Wren’s dagger protruding from his chest.

Meredith’s hands were behind her back, she seemed impassive. “And you’re certain it was he who committed these crimes? A Templar of good standing.”

Good standing? Cullen nearly laughed. Morelli was a bastard. There had been nothing good about him. “I am, Knight-Commander,” Cullen said.

“There is evidence that it could have been a mage, Enchanter Kraft, in fact.”

Cullen realized what she was trying to do. Pin the blame on a Mage. No shame upon the Templars and then all the more reason for the Templars to tighten their fists around the Mages. _I trust you,_ Wren’s voice a quiet whisper in his ear. He would never turn a blind eye to any of it ever again. _Play innocent, naive._ Cullen furrowed his brow and canted his head to the side. “No, Knight-Commander. I am positive, Templar Morelli is guilty of the murders and far more. He admitted as much, including trying to point the finger at Enchanter Kraft to take the suspicion off him.”

Meredith said nothing as she walked around to stand behind her desk. “You’re certain?” she asked him again, he heard the coercion in her tone. “You realize how this would look, don’t you?”

Cullen straightened up even more. “I do, Knight-Commander. All the more reason for the Templars to acknowledge what happened and strive to do better. Many of the people of Kirkwall do not favor the Templars-”

“And you believe that accepting that one of our own murdered a few mages is going to help?”

A few mages, she said it as if they were as inconsequential as bugs. As if Morelli had stepped on a few ants. Cullen’s jaw clenched. “Point the blame elsewhere and the people will speculate. They will assume that it is a cover-up. I imagine they’ll come up with theories far more outlandish than the truth.”

She looked at him, scrutinized him. “And does this have anything to do with the elf?”

“Knight-Commander?” Cullen asked, lacing as much confusion into his voice as possible. “What do you mean?”

“The one who caused all that trouble a few months ago that kept you from your own duties. Perhaps, had you not gone on this wild goose chase, none of this would have happened.”

Cullen didn’t react and it took everything in him. “She is simply another victim of Morelli’s.”

Meredith scoffed. “That elf is not a victim. A common whore and nothing else.”

The blood was roaring in Cullen’s ears, almost deafening. She was trying to get a rise out of him. A reaction. He didn’t argue. Didn’t say anything, afraid that if he did it would give her all the more reason to retaliate against Wren. She wasn’t a victim. She was a survivor and Cullen was so damn proud of her.

“Dismissed,” Meredith said with a sneer and a wave of her hand.

Cullen saluted her, though it pained him to do so, and then he turned on his heel and left. He retreated to his quarters, stripped out of his armor and paced.


	21. Chapter 21

A nightmare ripped Wren from her somewhat peaceful sleep. Darktown in flames and Cullen in chains before her. An accused traitor. To be hanged for Morelli’s murder. And Wren herself, her body broken, forced to watch. She woke with a shout, swore she saw Morelli standing over her.

Wren threw back the blankets and was almost afraid to try and stand up. Afraid that her legs would no longer work. But she stood, and they held and she got up to light a candle. Then another. The oil lamp the flame turned up high. She paced the floor anxiously. She tried to sit and work knowing she found comfort in the consistency of it. But she couldn’t.

Had Meredith believed Cullen’s tale? Or was her terrible dream a premonition and she’d wake to find Cullen hanging from the gallows? Wren made a cup of tea that went cold. Tried to eat but only managed a few bites. She dressed and braided her hair back before wrapping the pretty blue scarf around it. The tentative knock came and Wren pulled open the door to see Mathari standing there. “Oh, I thought you might be sleeping.”

“Come on, let's go to the market,” Wren said, grabbing her cane.

“Are you- should you be…?” Mathari frowned.

“I’m fine. All better let's go.” Mathari stepped back, allowing Wren onto the front step where she pulled the door shut behind her, locked it and then, linking an arm with Mathari, and leaning heavily on her cane, they started to walk.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Mathari asked, still frowning.

Wren shook her head. “If I stay in there one second longer, I’ll go mad. It’s fine, we’ll take it easy. I just need-” the words died on her tongue. A Templar stood just a few feet away. Full armor, with helmet and all, so one couldn’t be sure where they were looking. But Wren knew. At her. The Templar stood within easy view of her front door.

“Wren?” Mathari said softly, and then she too noticed the Templar. “Wren?” she said again, this time her voice laced with worry.

“To the market,” Wren said, pretending as if she hadn’t seen the Templar. They walked silently up the stairs, passing another Templar near the docks. Just standing there. Though Wren noticed there weren’t any near where the Qunari had made their home. In the lower market, there seemed to be a Templar in every corner. Near every staircase.

She wasn’t the only person who had noticed them. The other people milling around gave them a wide berth. “I shouldn’t have screamed at the Knight-Commander,” Wren whispered as she and Mathari made their way up to Alaros’ booth.

“You screamed at her?” Mathari asked with wide eyes.

“I did,” Wren said, smoothing a hand down the back of Mathari’s head. And now she was being watched. What would happen if Cullen came? Is that what the Knight-Commander was waiting for? _Oh, Elgar’nan._ Wren needed to warn him and she needed to know that Cullen was safe and not being punished for what she’d done. An idea began to form in her head as they made their way around the market, Wren pretending as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Where are we going?” Mathari asked as they made their way back to Darktown and bypassed Wren’s door.

“I think a visit with Janna sounds nice.” A family that Wren had made a tincture or two for in the past. Mathari’s face screwed up with a frown, but she trudged along beside her. They stayed for a short while. Wren tried to drink the cup of tea that was offered, but her stomach was a mass of butterflies.

Finally, she left and made her way back home, alone this time, to wait.

Cullen stood at his post outside the Chantry at the base of the massive staircase. He needed to be careful. Watch his step going forward. He was being watched and they weren’t even being the least bit discreet about it. Did that mean that the Knight-Commander no longer trusted him? She shouldn’t, he thought. He thought of Wren, hoped that she was alright.

There was no way he’d be able to go to her unless he was granted a respite from his surveillance during the night, but Cullen didn’t believe that was the case. Not yet anyways. He heard a voice, shouting, overly loud. A child, a boy of no more than ten, he thought, holding a wicker basket of pathetic looking flowers and weeds.

“You Ser, like to buy some flowers?” he said to a Templar. The Templar sneered down at the boy.

“Get lost, before I give you the boot.”

“Yes Ser, sorry Ser!” The boy skipped back, out of kicking distance, and tried a few others before making his way to Cullen. “How’s about you Ser Knight-Captain?”

Cullen frowned down at the boy, who was not a boy at all. Mathari’s face peeked out at him from beneath a woolen cap that hid her long hair. “Those are some sad looking flowers,” he commented and she flashed him a grin.

“Picked ‘em from the Viscount's courtyard.” She plucked out one, the only one that wasn’t a wilted weed and held it out to him. It was a pretty yellow wildflower, the same kind as ones that he’d gifted to Wren not so long ago. “Templars in Darktown,” Mathari said, keeping her voice low. “Say’s stay away. Being watched.” Then, raising her voice. “Gold coin for the whole bunch!”

Worry was a knot in Cullen’s stomach, and by the Maker, pride. Wren had concocted this scheme to warn him? He fished a coin from his pocket and held it out to Mathari. “Why don’t you go buy yourself something sweet.”

Her face lit up. “Stay safe,” she whispered, and then she spun on her heel, shouting again about her flowers for sale.

“You shouldn’t encourage them,” the Templar who had threatened to kick Mathari said as he walked past. “Brings more of that lowlife filth up out of the sewers.”

Cullen didn’t reply, simply tucked the flower into his gauntlet.

Wren felt as if she was never going to sleep again. Ever. She’d spend the rest of her life tossing and turning and pacing. Though, if the Knight-Commander had anything to do with it, Wren imagined that it would be a short life. Her head ached. Mathari had returned after a short while, back in her regular clothes, with a sweet cake that she told her Cullen paid for.

Message delivered. Wren would just need to be cautious. Watch her step. Steer clear of the Knight-Commander. Sighing she sunk down on the bed. If she took one of the pain tonics, the ones that made her head fuzzy, maybe then she’d sleep.

She heard the key in the door and her heart leaped up into her throat. Wren scrambled for her dagger, now cleaned and freshly honed. The door drew open and the hooded figure ducked in and closed the door behind him. Cullen drew back the hood and Wren was shaking her head. “No, no you idiot, you can’t be here!” she cried quietly but was halfway across the room when he caught her around the waist and all but lifted her off her feet, his face pressed against her throat. “You idiot,” she said again, holding onto him as tightly as she could. “Mathari told you! What are you doing here?”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, one hand sliding up to fist in her hair as he lifted his head. “It’s okay,” he repeated and then he kissed her. “So am I, but,” Cullen reached up with his other hand, cupped her face. “Not all the Templars are so completely under Meredith’s thumb. Lucky for me, she hasn’t figured that out yet.

Cullen had been wary of trusting the young man, the one who’d previously alerted him to the hidden body, what seemed like years ago. But they had talked and it was a relief to know that he wasn’t alone. “I promise, it’s okay. The Templar on guard right now is a friend. I can’t stay long, I just needed to see you. To know that you were alright.”

Wren tugged his head down, pressing her forehead against his. “She didn’t believe you?”

“I think,” he said quietly. “I need to be very careful moving forward. She can’t know that I see through her. She even tried to convince me to pin the murders on a mage,” he told her and Wren scoffed.

“Are you surprised? Had it been anyone else, you know that is what would have happened.”

“I know,” Cullen said, drawing back to look at her again. To memorize her face. Each and every detail. “I’m ashamed to say it, but a year ago, I might have let it slide.” It pained him to say it. To acknowledge that he would have turned a blind eye to the cruelty.

Wren cupped his jaw, pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him softly. “People change,” she told him.

“I can’t stay,” he sighed.

“I know.” She smiled sadly at him. “Promise that you’ll be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Only if you promise that you’ll keep your head down. No more shouting at the Knight-Commander.”

Wren flashed him a grin. “But I am so very good at it.”

Andraste, preserve him, Cullen thought, tracing fingers over her cheek, along her jaw. He was so completely in love with her. They could leave Kirkwall, he thought, wanted to suggest it, but he knew better. He knew Wren would never need so long as there were people who needed her.

“Hey,” brow furrowing, Wren ran her fingers along his jaw. “Everything will be alright,” she told him and he almost believed her. “Surely, the Knight-Commander has more important things to worry about than a little trouble making elf. She’ll forget all about this whole thing in no time, and then you can come and see me again.”

Cullen hoped that she was right. There was a quiet series of knocks on the door and Cullen let out a breath. “I have to go.” He cupped her face between his hands, stared into the pretty teal eyes that looked up at him with warmth and reassurance. It amazed him that a short seven months earlier there had been nothing but hate for him in those eyes. He kissed her, willed her to understand how he felt about her and sent up a silent prayer that they might get a bit of happiness for themselves.

Then he was out the door, hurrying back to the Chantry. Sneaking through a side door that opened into the infirmary. The old man inclined his head and Cullen dragged his armor back on. “Your guard is still lurking outside,” he told Cullen.

“Good,” he said. Cullen crossed the room on silent feet, yanked open the door abruptly and watched as the man who had been leaning against the wall, looking for all the world bored out of his mind, nearly fell over. “Templar Golin? Can I help you?”

“Knight-Captain!” the man yelped, straightened and saluted him. “No, Ser.”

Cullen looked down the hall one way, then the other. It was otherwise empty. “Then why are you hovering outside of the infirmary? There are no patients.”

The man’s cheeks flushed crimson. “Knight-Commander’s orders, Ser.”

“To guard an empty room?” Cullen inquired. “Odd,” he said and then called a goodbye over his shoulder to the healer before making his way down the corridor to his own quarters.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry it has taken so incredibly long to get this chapter up, but finding any motivation to think of my stories, let alone work on them has been a black pit of despair. Even still, I am not entirely happy with it.
> 
> Second, I had always intended on bumping this up to explicit, because smut. And honestly, perhaps with the violence depicted, it already should be rated E - but I'm a terrible judge of that sort of thing. I don't want to alienate anyone who maybe doesn't care for the sex scenes, so I have been back and forth on that. In a fic I wrote a very long time ago, it was rated T, and I wrote one single sex scene and posted it as a standalone fic. It existed but wasn't pertinent to the story. 
> 
> So I pose the question, is there a preference? Keep the M rating and any subsequent sex scenes are posted entirely apart from the story, or bump the rating up to E and continue as is - or even post sex scenes as their own chapter, with a warning in the summary? Any input on the subject would be appreciated.
> 
> Also, another note, I think part of my stuggle is that this story is chock full of angst and more angst and there is very little joy and happiness even later on. Eventual happy endings, yes, but, that is a long way off.

The cold winter months gave way to spring, and spring became a miserable, sweltering summer. The Templars still watched her and she hadn’t seen Cullen in just over four months. For a time they had smuggled innocent little things back and forth, and Cullen had come to visit when he could. But then he stopped. Disappeared. No notes, no late-night visits. Worry had been a heavy weight in Wren’s stomach. Had the Knight-Commander found them out? Had something happened to him?

Mathari had gone, her rouse as a boy selling trinkets had gotten her close to the Chantry and she’d seen Cullen and he’d been fine. _Too much work_ , Wren had realized. It was too much work for whatever they had between them, to keep up with the sneaking and skulking. Could she really blame him? The rejection had hurt more than she’d ever anticipated.

Cullen was her friend and, perhaps, more. Or so she had believed. _Oh well,_ she thought. Wren went about her daily tasks, alone today since Mathari had to help her mother with something. Wren didn’t mind the quiet. She visited the market and then sought out those too ill to visit her before making her way back home, leaning heavily on her cane.

While Anders had healed whatever damage Morelli had done when he’d shoved her nearly a year earlier, Wren found herself having to use her cane more than before. _What would happen when even the cane wasn’t enough?_ She’d worry about that when the time came, she supposed.

Returning home, she left the door thrown wide, in desperate hope for a cool breeze while she worked. There was a quiet tension in Kirkwall. Only a few weeks prior some fool had stolen something from the Qunari, which had turned out to be a poison that had driven more than a handful of people completely mad. Wren couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until the uneasy accord with the Qunari snapped and Kirkwall was painted in blood.

Late that night, Wren lay on her bed, blankets kicked to the floor, clad in the thinnest of chemises, contemplating stripping even that small article of clothing off. At the sound of scratching at her door, she pushed up onto her elbows, stared across the pitch-black room.

_A key in the lock._

Wren’s heart leaped up into her throat. The door opened, the familiar hooded figure slipped in, closed and latched the door and then she watched as Cullen leaned against the door. She stayed quiet as he shed his cloak and then turned. Wren knew he couldn’t see anything in the room, couldn’t see her as she watched him look in the direction of her bed. His hopeful expression shifted to one that was crestfallen. The rasp of his palm over his stubbled jaw was loud as he leaned his back against the door and slowly began to slide down it.

She watched him for several moments. As he sunk to the floor, his knees bent, he rested his arms on them and let his head rest against the door. He looked wrung out. Wren reached over silently and found the matches then lit the candle on the table beside her bed before looking back over at the man who sat on her floor. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his voice quiet.

“It’s too hot to sleep,” she told him sitting up all the way. “Come here.” He didn’t hesitate. Stood and then crossed the room. She saw dark circles beneath his eyes and she wondered when he’d last slept. Tugging on his hand, she drew him down to sit on the edge of the bed, and then shifted onto her knees behind him.

“What are you-” he broke off when her hands began to knead his shoulders.

“Tell me,” she murmured.

“It’s worse. Everything is so much worse and it doesn’t show any signs of changing.” He was quiet for a moment, then he reached back, covered one of the hands on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come for so long. I almost didn’t come tonight, I wasn’t sure if you’d- if you still wanted me to.”

Wren felt a lump form in her throat and tried to swallow past it, but couldn’t. Instead, she leaned in, her chest to his back and nuzzled the back of his neck and pressed a soft kiss there. “You’re exhausted,” she finally said. “Why don’t you lay down with me.” Withdrawing a bit, she shifted up on the bed and patted the large empty space beside her.

Cullen watched her for a moment, then he leaned forward, took off his boots and stretched out beside her as she doused the candle and before laying back down on her side. They had spent a handful of hours like this, on the coldest nights buried beneath Wren’s blankets, wrapped up in each other. “I’ve missed you,” Cullen said, his voice a quiet rasp.

Cupping his face between her hands, Wren kissed him softly. “I missed you, I had worried something happened, but Mathari said you looked fine, so I thought that maybe you decided spending time with me wasn’t worth the hassle.” It was a hard thing to admit, Cullen so obviously had more important things to deal with.

One of his big hands brushed against her stomach, then over her hip and the curve of her waist to splay across her back and draw her closer. He was even warmer than the air around them and Wren didn’t mind, despite how miserable she’d felt earlier. “You’re always worth the hassle,” Cullen murmured against her mouth, kissing her slow and languid.

“Well,” Wren whispered before kissing along his jaw to his ear. “Then I always want you here.” Nipping at his ear, her lips twisted into a grin when she felt his hand spear into the hair at the nape of her neck and tug her mouth back to his. This time when he kissed her it was deep and taking. Wren couldn’t breathe, she felt light-headed and it felt _good_. She dipped one hand under his tunic, scraped her nails against his spine all while trying to get closer. When she hooked one leg over his hip, Cullen froze. Lips against hers parted and damp and gasping. “Sorry-” she choked out the word.

Wren started to shift back, to withdraw. Then the hand that Cullen had splayed on her back shifted down, along her hip and over the fabric that had shifted up when she’d hooked her leg over his. His hand was big, calloused and gentle as he curled it around her bare thigh. “Wait,” he said, squeezing lightly and pulling her back against him. “Don’t-don’t stop.”

The low timbre of his voice sent heat to places low inside of her. “I don’t want to push, to rush you.” Wren slid her hands up his chest to cup his face between her palms. “I’ve never been with anyone-” her words caught in her throat when his hand slipped down along her thigh and his fingers skimmed the delicate skin behind her knee.

“Wren, I know you worked at the Rose, it’s… fine.” Cullen lowered his head, pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat and she shuddered.

“Stop that.” Wren caught his hands, her breathing jagged and her heart beating wildly in her chest. Rolling him onto his back, she pinned his hands up beside his head while straddling his hips. The evidence of his desire was thick and hard between her legs, even through the fabric of his trousers. “You are making it very difficult to concentrate,” she chided. “And that isn’t what I meant,” she drew in a breath, then leaned down and brushed a tender kiss against his lips.

“I’ve never been with anyone simply for the desire to be with them. I came to Kirkwall and took up at the Rose. Jethan, he taught me-” heat flushed her cheeks. Jethan had been so kind to her. “He taught me how to please men, how to please myself since a man who is paying can’t be bothered by such things. But, I never _wanted_.” Wren peered down at Cullen’s face, wondered if he could see anything at all in the blackness of her room. “I want you, Cullen, but only if you’re certain. I’m not going anywhere, it can wait, there is no need to rush.”

Cullen tugged one of his hands free from beneath hers and ran it up her bare arm, along her throat and his thumb grazed her jaw before his hand stopped at the back of her neck. “I want you, Wren. Like I have never wanted anything else in my life.”

A different kind of heat spread through Wren’s body at those words. From the center of her chest down to the tips of her toes. Leaning in closer, her breasts pressed against his chest, she rested her elbows on either side of his head and lightly rubbed her nose against his. “Then, I am yours,” she breathed the words against his lips.

It was more than Cullen had ever hoped for, or even dreamed of. The quiet murmur of Wren’s words, _‘I am yours’_ was like that first hint of the sun after weeks of dreary rain. Heat blossomed in his chest and the love that he felt for her grew, expanded. He’d long since accepted her past, would never judge her for it. Cullen admired her strength, her resilience. To be the first man that she truly wanted? If he’d been standing, he’d have fallen to his knees for her.

The soft gasp she let out as he flipped them, tucking her beneath him on the bed made him grin. It was dark, but he could see the outline of her. “And I, am yours,” he echoed her words before lowering his head to take her mouth with his own. Kissing he could do had plenty of experience with that now. But the rest, he wasn’t so confident. “I want to pleasure you,” he said, kissing along her jaw to her ear. “But you’ll need to show me, teach me what you like. How to touch you.” Cullen heard her breath hitch as he trailed his tongue along her earlobe to the curved tip.

Her nails bit into his back and she let out a breathy sigh, arching closer to him, angling her head to give him better access. “I teach you much more and you’ll be-” Cullen’s teeth gently scraped her ear, and Wren’s thighs squeezed around his hips and the cry she let out had nearly all the blood rushing south in Cullen’s body. “Outright dangerous,” she finally finished, panting quietly. “Creators, you’re wicked.”

“I want,” Cullen kissed back down along her jaw, pausing to nip at her lips before shifting to the other side. Wren turned her head, her head tilting for him to repeat the kisses and nips on her other ear. “To pleasure you.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I have bumped up the rating to E. **There is a page break where the smut 'begins' - though it isn't particularly explicit - and goes through the end of the chapter.** I'd rather perhaps be overly cautious. 
> 
> My one issue with having the explicit rating, is then more often than not I feel obligated to have MORE smut. As if having an explicit rating means I have to turn my story into a porno. Ugh.

Cullen was very aware of his body over hers as Wren dragged his mouth back to her own. Her frame much smaller and he had heard that she’d been using her cane more than she used to. “Wren,” he murmured her name, lifting his head up enough to peer down at her in the dark. Maker, he wanted to see her. _Needed_ to see her. He hadn’t been thinking when he’d rolled her beneath him. “Light the candle, please, I have to-” he reared back onto his knees. “I need to be able to see you right now.”

Wren was quiet for a moment, didn’t move. “Alright,” she said softly and he heard the rustle of bedding as she pushed up, her thigh pressing against his as she shifted. Cullen dropped his hand, felt the warmth of her bare flesh, soft as satin. There was the quiet sound of a match being struck and then soft glow filled the room. “Better?” Wren asked, tilting her face up to look at Cullen.

Lifting his hands, he gently took her face between his hands. “Is this okay?” Cullen asked and she smiled up at him, covered his hands with her own. Wren turned her face to one side, pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Yes, Cullen, I want you.”

“No, I mean,” he searched her face. “Your back. I don’t want to hurt you. I wasn’t thinking when I rolled you over.” Her lips parted. “I know you’ve been using your cane more since… since Morelli. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

One of her hands slid up his arm, down over his chest to curl her fist in the hem of his tunic. “How do you know I’ve been using my cane more?”

Lowering his head, Cullen pressed his forehead to hers. “Just because I couldn’t be here, didn’t mean I wasn’t looking out for you.” He smoothed back a curl from her face.

“Take this off,” she murmured, tugging at his tunic. Cullen sat back on his haunches and drew his shirt up and over his head before tossing it to the floor. Wren’s small hands skimmed over his chest, down over his stomach. “Lay down with me,” she murmured, drawing him down with her.

They stretched out on their sides, pressed close, Wren hooked one of her legs over his and he slid an arm beneath her head, his other hand rested on the curve of her hip. Her hands splayed against his chest. “You are...” she trailed off, her fingertip tracing along a scar on his collarbone.

“Wren?”

Angling her head she looked up at him, huge turquoise eyes met his. “It gets stiff if I stay in one position for too long. Flat on my back is the worst. But I’m fine, you won’t hurt me. You can have me however you’d like me.”

The hand he had on her hip curled in the fabric of her tunic, thin and worn soft, but he imagined it wasn’t nearly as soft as the skin it concealed. “I want to have you how _you_ like.” Her cheeks went a little pink and she ducked her head, pressed her lips against the hollow of his throat.

It felt absurd to Wren, the sudden shy nervousness she felt. She’d had sex, plenty of it, and even in the beginning had easily overcome any unease or self-consciousness she’d felt about modesty and all that went along with it. But with Cullen, there was an intimacy she’d never felt before. Tender and caring and her chest felt so full it was hard to breathe. Wren wanted to take her time, make love. Learn everything about his body. But knowing they didn’t have long before he’d have to leave and return to the Chantry made her feel frantic, anxious and she was struggling to block it out.

“How long until you have to leave?” she asked tipping her head back.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cullen told her with a slight shake of his head. “Don’t think about it. Guide me, Wren. Teach me how to touch you.” His voice was low and just the sound of it went straight to her core. The hand fisted on her hip spread wide, fingertips brushing bare skin. The sensation sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine and she wanted more. Wanted his hands all over her body.

Pushing him onto his back, Wren reared up as she straddled his hips. Cullen peered up at her through heavy-lidded eyes, his hands splayed on her thighs. Big and strong and yet she knew how gentle he could be. An internal battle raged in her mind. Take him like this, forget the foreplay. Wren knew she’d enjoy it and so would he. Or torture them both by taking it slow.

Curling her hands in the hem of her chemise, Wren shifted her hips deliberately and Cullen groaned, his hands tightening on her thighs, but he never took his gaze from hers. With painstaking slowness, Wren inched the thin cotton dress up over her belly, past her breasts and then finally drew it over her head and tossed it aside. Despite the heat of the room, Wren shivered, completely naked in his lap. Cullen’s eyes were still fixed on hers. “You are perfect,” he told her. “Maker, I-” he broke off, blinked and his gaze softened into something she couldn’t decipher.

Dropping her hands to cover his, Wren smiled warmly down at him. Then she guided them up, across her belly, his calloused palms rasped over her ribs and when his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts her breath left her in a shudder. She watched his face, and he watched their hands. Rough hands on tender flesh and she felt goosebumps everywhere as finally, Wren pressed the weight of her breasts into Cullen’s hands.

* * *

His touch was tentative as he squeezed and she arched into his palms, a soft moan escaping her. Her hands fell away and he hesitated for a moment, then his hands slid away. Cullen sat up, one arm banding around her waist while the other, traced the curve of either breast, thumbed over her nipple which had tightened into a firm pebble beneath his ministrations. Her breathing grew more and more ragged and she didn’t realize at first that she had been rocking her hips against his until the hand Cullen had splayed on her lower back pressed her closer.

“Elgar’nan,” she breathed wondered if she could orgasm just from Cullen’s gentle touch.

“Can I-” Cullen’s words broke off and then his tongue curled around one taut nipple while his thumb stroked the other.

Wren let out a strangled cry and curled forward, towards him and her hands both fisted in his hair, holding him against her breast. “Yes!” it came out far louder than she’d intended. She’d never thought her breasts particularly sensitive but as Cullen’s lips and tongue teased and sucked, alternating between the two Wren felt as if she might actually die if Cullen stopped.

A whimper escaped her when Cullen dragged his mouth away, but he left a damp trail up along her throat before claiming her mouth in a fierce kiss. _I need you. I need you!_ Her mind seemed to chant. Covering the hand still on her breast, Wren dragged it down the length of her torso. Her forehead pressed against his and she stared into his golden-brown gaze. “I need you.” She turned his hand up and pressed it against her center. “Here. I need you right here.”

“Maker’s breath, Wren,” Cullen’s voice was a hoarse as his fingers rasped against the damp curls between her thighs. “Yes.” Wet warmth on his fingertips as she guided his hand.

Pleasure had her back bowing as Cullen’s gentle fingers slid through her folds, spread her slick and found that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Oh-” Wren’s nails dug into his shoulders while he circled and rubbed. She shifted her hips just slightly. “Right-oh, right there!” Then his lips closed around her nipple again and the room seemed to fracture around her. Pleasure raced through her body and showed no sign of ebbing as Cullen continued the wonderful torture. “Oh, Gods-” She covered his hand between her thighs, panting against his shoulder.

“Was that-” Cullen peered up at her, a crease between his brows. “Was it good?”

A strangled laugh escaped Wren’s lips and she was still struggling to draw in a proper breath, but she turned her face to press her lips to his. “Better than good,” she told him and as her heartbeat slowed and sensation seemed to return to her limbs, Wren cupped Cullen’s face between her hands. “Come in to me, Cullen.” A soft kiss to his lips before she drew them back down onto the bed, laying back with Cullen over her, her thighs steepled on either side of his hips.

Cullen had braced his weight on his elbows with the move and Wren took advantage, running her hands over his bare chest and through the dusting of golden hair there, then narrowed down into the waistband of his trousers. She untied them, slipped her hands inside and cupped his behind, pulling him closer until he rocked against her earning a moan from both of them. Finally, Wren pushed at his pants, until she couldn’t reach with her hands, she used one foot to push them down to his knees, then Cullen took over and kicked them off with a few grunts of annoyance, before settling over her once again.

Her head felt a little fuzzy as the heat of his body pressed against her own. So warm and solid. Slipping her hands over his hips, Wren dipped one down to curl around the thick length of him. Cullen cursed, his eyes clenching shut and Wren grinned. So rarely did he use that kind of language. She stroked him from base to tip, her fingers firm around him. Again and then again. “Wren-” it was a strangled sound and he looked down at her, desperation written across his features. “Wren-” he managed to get her name out again, and then one hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck and he kissed.

Toes curling, Wren slid one of her thighs up against Cullen’s waist, felt his cock rub against he slit.

“Shit-” Cullen broke the kiss, dropped his forehead to press against her collar as he held himself rigid over her. “Wren-”

Angling her hips just so, Wren slid her other hand up to the back of Cullen’s neck, her fingers brushed through the gently curling hair that. “Come in to me, Cullen,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek. “I want that. I want _you_ , inside me.”

Cullen began to push forward, the sensation of his thickness filling her stole her breath, but still, she encouraged him. “Yes- yes, Cullen. In me. Come into-” He reached her end and it may as well have been her throat for all the breath she could suck in.

Lifting his head, Cullen’s gaze was soft and tears shone in his eyes. “Maker, you’re- you’re-” Fingers stroked a curl back from her face. “Wren.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Cullen. Elgar’nan.” With the foot still planted on the bed for leverage, Wren rolled her hips, heard the strangled sound Cullen made and then he was moving. Slow, tentative strokes at first as he settled into the movement and the way their bodies fit together. “Yes!” His name became a mantra on her hips when Cullen’s hand slid down to grip the thigh when he grew more confident in that movement.

“Okay?” he panted, leaving a wet kiss on her throat. “Not hurting you?”

Warmth blossomed in her chest as his concern. But at that moment, Wren didn’t think she would have cared if her body was revolting because the sheer bliss of Cullen over her, in her, was stronger than anything else. “Gods, don’t stop!” Her nails left welts down his back and Cullen kissed every part of her face, neck, and chest that he could reach while he drove into her again and again. The moment his fingers dipped between them and he began to circle her clit, Wren was certain she’d gone blind and possibly deaf.

Wren held onto him as the tidal wave of pleasure crested. The movement of Cullen’s hips faltered, she locked her ankles at the base of her spine, wanted him deeper. His length pulsed inside her and Wren felt the warm wet flood fill her, while Cullen gasped out her name and pressed his face into the crook of her shoulder, clinging to her as if she were a life raft in the middle of the ocean. Wren held onto him just as tightly.


	24. Chapter 24

Hours later, Cullen lay with Wren, her back tucked against his chest, her head pillowed on his arm. Sleep should have come easy, he was exhausted, but Cullen didn’t want to miss a single moment of his time with her. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to slip away again to come and see her.

The last few months had been difficult. Not just with what was happening within the Circle, though wasn’t it the root of all his issues. Questioning his decisions, second-guessing everything. Kirkwall was a ticking bomb and it was only a matter of time before it exploded. Though it was a toss-up between whether Qunari or the Knight-Commander broke first.

The candle had long since gutted out, leaving the room once again dark as pitch, but Cullen’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dark room, while he couldn’t see much, he could see the shape of the woman who lay beside him. Reaching up, he skimmed his fingertips over her shoulder and down her arm. There would be collateral damage. Innocent people would be hurt. Wren could be hurt. Especially if it were up to the Knight-Commander.

He’d considered sending her away. She could go stay with his family, she’d be safe there. But Cullen knew that she wouldn’t leave. Lowering his head he pressed a soft kiss to the crook of her neck, heard her sigh and she shifted, pushing closer to him. Hearing the noise from outside, Cullen frowned, noticed the light seeping in from under the door. Daylight. What little there was that reached Wren’s small home.

He should have left hours ago. One day, just one day he would forsake his duties. A short while later there was a knock, Wren shifted, made a sound and Cullen shushed her, kissed her cheek as he whispered in her ear. “Shh, I’ve got it. Sleep.” Leaving the bed, he tugged on his breeches and made his way to the door. Drawing it open barely a crack, he peered out, saw Mathari, bouncing from one foot to the other. She stilled when the door cracked opened, her hand going to her dagger.

“Wren-?”

“Shhh,” Cullen drew the door open a bit farther. “She’s sleeping.” Relief crossed her features and she smiled up at Cullen. “If anyone asks, she’s got the flu,” he told her.

Mathari glanced around then back to Cullen. “Why did you stop coming around?” she asked, voice edged with anger.

There was too much to go into, especially as they stood on Wren’s doorstep where anyone might catch a glimpse of him. “It’s complicated,” he told her and she crossed her arms over her chest, glared and tapped her foot. The corner of Cullen’s mouth lifted into a faint smile. “I wanted to keep you and Wren safe,” he told her and that was the root of it. The Knight-Commander was walking a tightrope and he feared the slightest thing could send her over into sheer brutality.

Protecting Wren, and this young girl who had wormed her way into his heart as well, were his priorities. Mathari’s rage seemed to soften and she dropped her arms. “Okay,” she said. “Wren was sad without you around.”

“I’ll try to do better,” he promised and after a quick goodbye, she turned and Cullen closed and bolted the door shut. Wren hadn’t stirred. He crossed back to the bed, and she squirmed until her back was tucked against his chest again the moment he stretched out behind her.

They stayed like that for a while, Cullen perfectly happy to hold Wren while she slept. Wren made a quiet humming sound as she shifted, pressing back closer to Cullen. “Hmm, what time is it?” she murmured, then the noise from outside seemed to reach her ears and she sat bolt upright and whirled around to stare at Cullen with wide eyes. “It’s daytime. Oh, no, Cullen-“ 

He peered up at her, a gentle smile on his face. Sure, he’d likely get into trouble for disappearing for the day. But it would be utterly worth it. “One day,” he murmured, reaching up to push her tangle of curls back from her face. “I’m going to be selfish for this one day and spend it with you.”

“But… won’t you get into trouble?” Wren’s brow furrowed, though she leaned into the caress of his hand. 

“It’ll be fine,” Cullen reassured her. Wren reached up and covered his hand, pressed her lips to his palm and let out a breath.

“If you say so,” she told him. “Mathari-“

“Already came and went, I…” he ducked his head, withdrew his hand, unsure of how she’d react. Cullen knew how much helping the people of Kirkwall meant to her. “I told her to tell everyone you were ill. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t think- I am sure you have things you needed to do.”

The sheet that Wren had held against her chest slipped away and she moved until she straddled his lap before taking his face between her hands. “It’s alright, Cullen. I don’t often keep my door closed to those who need help, but some days,” often after a bad night of pain, “But it has been known to happen. I need to make Ari’s tonic, but it’ll keep.”

“No,” Cullen shook his head as he slid his hands along her bare thighs, up to the curve of her waist. “No, make the tonic, I am happy to just be here with you. If you need to take it to her, it’s fine. I can even help, if you need, if there is anything I can do.”

Wren hummed quietly, then leaned in and brushed her lips against his. “I already gathered everything I Need, but it takes a little while to brew. It can wait till tomorrow for me to take it. But… are you sure?”

“Positive,” Cullen told her, pushing back her hair once more. “I would never expect you to choose to spend time with me, over helping the people you care about.” Pressing a kiss to her lips he smiled at her. “I’ll make you breakfast, then you can do whatever you need.” 

Wren didn’t move out of his lap for a moment, then she kissed him quickly. Climbing off the bed she picked up Cullen’s tunic and dragged it over her head. It was far too big, the collar slipping off one shoulder and the sleeves hung past her fingertips. Wren rolled the sleeves as she padded across the room to the small bathroom. Pausing she turned in the doorway, looked back at Cullen who had stood, tugged up his breeches and was making his way to the stove. “Cullen,” she called and he turned. “You’re one of those people,” she said.

His brow pinched together in confusion. “The people I care about.” It was as if she’d just given him untold riches, the way his face lit up. A broad smile and his eyes shone brightly. It made her belly flip and her heart felt too tight in her chest. Ducking her head, she shut the door before she could say anything else before he could say anything. “Oh, Mythal,” she breathed, rubbing her hand against her sternum. She liked the way he’d reacted. She liked making him happy.

After cleaning up, she drew in a breath and pulled open the door. The tea kettle sat on the table, a curl of steam billowing from the spout. Two cups were laid out, a plate with thick slices of toasted bread sat here and the rich scent of frying meat reached her. She crossed the room, moved up behind Cullen and slipped her arms around his waist. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” she told him, kissing the back of his shoulder. 

“I wanted to,” he covered her hands with one of his own, while he flipped the sausages in the pan. “Besides, I know you. I know how once you start working you forget to stop and eat if someone isn’t here to remind you.”

Pressing her cheek to his back, she closed her eyes. For today, she would pretend. Pretend that things weren’t so tense beyond her door. Pretend that she and Cullen truly could have a future together. That they could share a home, a life. They ate, sipped the tea and Cullen cleaned up, despite Wren’s protests that she would do it. Then she settled down into her chair at her work table, her ingredients laid out before her. Cullen squeezed her shoulders, kissed the top of her head. “If you need anything, just ask.”

“What will you do while I’m working?” she angled her head back to look at him.

“I think I’ll take a nap,” he grinned at her, and she heard him go into the bathroom, then after a few minutes he came out and she heard the blankets on the bed shift, heard his sigh. Then she dove into her work and forgot everything else.

Cullen watched Wren. He’d watched her before while she worked, found it fascinating. But now, he saw her with a different eye. Her curls were bound back with a strip of leather, she still wore only his tunic and by the Maker, did he like that. Cullen knew how difficult the tonic for Ari was to make. The room was nearly pitch black because one of the ingredients if exposed to light, turned rancid. She barely moved, save for reaching for what she needed or stirring the cauldron. Wren’s voice was a quiet murmur, a soft cadence that she often spoke when she brewed her tonics. 

He frowned. Before he’d always assumed it was her cursing him, muttering her annoyance of his presence. And perhaps, sometimes it had been. But she always did it while working. She had done it that night when they had gone to Mathari and Wren had barely moved for hours as she stitched the young girl back together. 

Time passed. Wren worked and Cullen pondered. Finally, she poured the contents into a glass bottle, set it with a cork and sat back. “Done,” she said, turning her head to look over at him with a smile. Then she stretched and Cullen’s brows rose at the loud cracking her back made. “Oof,” she grunted, dropping her hands back into her lap. “Did you nap?” Wren pushed up, stretched again.

“I watched you,” he said and saw her duck her head. “You barely moved the entire time you were sitting there,” he crooked a finger at her. “Come here, I’ll rub your back for you.”

Wren hummed quietly, made her way across the room, hips swaying as she reached the foot of the bed. She crawled up onto it, then slowly, on hands and knees, made her way up to hover over him. The collar of his tunic hung low, giving him a view of her bare breasts. “I have a better idea,” she told him and leaned down to press her mouth to the space just below his belly button.

His breath left him in a hiss and he curled his hand in her hair. When her hand slid up his thigh and cupped him through his breeches, Cullen thought he might spill, right then and there. Grunting he released her hair, caught her up in his arms and dragged her up over him. Then he nudged her onto her belly and moved over her, straddling her thighs. “Massage first,” he insisted and skimmed his hands beneath the tunic, and up her back. 

“Oh, okay,” she moaned softly, all but melting beneath him. Chuckling, Cullen kissed her shoulder and got up to retrieve the jar of salve. By the time he returned to the bed, Wren had stripped out of his tunic and lay naked on her stomach, her head pillowed on her hands, watching him through thick lashes. Moving over her once again, he concentrated on her back, the areas he knew that troubled her the most. Then he continued, down over her rump, her thighs, and her calves. When his fingers brushed the soles of her feet, she let out a shriek of laughter and kicked him in the arm. “Don’t you dare, Cullen.”

“Oh,” he said with a laugh, one hand curling around her ankle. “Ticklish?”

“You’ll regret it,” she warned, going tense beneath his hand. He considered it, debated how much he wanted to hear her laugh, compared to how he wanted to hear his name on her lips in pleasure. Cullen ducked his head, kissed the center of her foot, and then made his way back up her body. Pressing his lips to the back of her knee, the center of her lower back, up her spine to finally nuzzle the back of her neck. 

Twisting beneath him, Wren turned, wrapped her arms around him and drew his face down to hers to claim his lips in a tender kiss. “Now will you make love to me?” she breathed against his lips and Cullen slid one hand along her side, cupping her bottom to draw her closer. 

He lifted his head and looked down at her in the low light coming from the lantern beside the bed. “Yes,” his voice was a rasp. “Always.”

Wren had never felt more content or more pampered in all her life and she truly dreaded it coming to an end. They spent much of the day in bed, touching and kissing. Sometime in the evening, she got up and put together a simple meal that they shared, while Wren sat perched on Cullen’s lap. It was all so very domestic and something she never thought she’d want. The hour grew late and Wren knew that their perfect day was coming to an end. Cullen dressed and she pulled on her own chemise, finally. “You’ll be careful,” she insisted and Cullen took her hands in his, kissed her knuckles.

“It’ll be fine,” he reassured her and Wren desperately wanted to believe him. If the Knight-Commander suspected he’d been with her, what would she do? After he left, Wren leaned heavily on the door and sent up a silent prayer to all of the Gods to watch over Cullen. 

Days passed, no word came from Cullen. No outward sign that anything had happened. No news was good news, she hoped. Then the morning came, after a particularly rough and sleepless night for Wren, where she woke to the sound of distant screaming, terrified cries for help, and the scent of smoke leeching its way inside her home.

Scrambling from the bed, Wren pulled on the closest dress at hand, grabbed her cane and wrenched open her door and realized that the fuse on the powder keg that was Kirkwall had finally been lit.


	25. Chapter 25

Wren didn’t make it ten feet from her door when she spotted the first body. “Oh, no,” blocking out the pain she ran the short distance to the woman, she fell to her knees and reached for her. There was so much blood soaking the dirt below her. Carefully pushing her onto her back, Wren let out a sob when Madeline’s vacant face lolled to the side. “May Falon’din guide you,” she whispered around the lump in her throat, then gently closed the old woman’s eyes. Cane in her hand, Wren pushed up to her feet again and saw a path of destruction laid out before her. 

How much had she slept through? It didn’t look as if any of those who were responsible for the chaos were still in Darktown. Perhaps, Darktown had been too inconsequential? There was blood, smears of it and broken bodies discarded in the street, but it wasn’t until Wren reached the stairs that lead to the market that she saw the worst of it.

Fire raged through some of the stalls, some were already completely gutted and smoldering. She saw charred limbs jutting from the rubble and the cobblestones seemed to be painted in blood. Tears burned her eyes, but Wren continued on. Surely there was a makeshift infirmary put together for the injured. She’d go and she could help. Rounding a corner, Wren froze, felt her gorge rise. Bodies. A pile of them. Discarded like trash. And standing over them, three of the city guard, digging through pockets and purses. Laughing.

“How dare you!” she snarled before she could think. “Don’t you think you should be helping the living, not violating the dead?”

One of the men jerked upright, a flicker of guilt on his features, the others though, it was clear they did not care even a little bit. She watched as one drew his sword and it was only then that Wren realized she should have quietly slunk away before these men had seen her. They would kill her and she would simply be another victim of the Qunari’s rampage. She took a step back and one of them laughed. He moved quickly, running toward her, he caught her around the waist, jerking her back against his chest. 

Before she could draw in a breath to shout, a blade was pressed to her throat.  _ Shit, shit, shit.  _ Wren silently cursed herself. She gripped her cane tightly in her hand but didn’t know how she was going to get herself out of this mess. The other laughing man grinned viciously as he sauntered around the bodies and made his way toward her. “Isn’t this that one who was giving the Knight-Commander trouble?” he asked.

“Worked at the Rose too,” the one behind her breathed against her ear. “Think you’re better than that now, do you?” 

The backs of her eyes stung and then her throat as she felt the blade dig in against her skin. The one in front of her reached out toward her and she clenched her eyes shut, desperately searching for a way to live through what was about to happen. But the hand never reached her. 

She heard a scream and then heat washed over her. Wren’s eyes snapped open and the man who stood before her was on fire, screaming and flailing as he tried to slap it out. The one who held her against his chest let out a shout and whirled around, shoving Wren away as he did. Her knees slammed against the cobblestones and she looked up to see a Qunari woman in an alleyway. She bore the weight of chains that Wren knew they bound their mages in. The fire built in her hands, and then with a flick of her wrist, it flew from her hands and slammed into the other man’s chest. He ran screaming. Slipped in his terror on the top of the stairs and Wren heard the sickening crunch of bone as he fell. The other guard had fled and was nowhere to be seen.

Heart hammering in her chest, Wren looked up at the Qunari woman, the Saarebas, and waited for the next ball of fire. Only it didn’t come. Neither moved for what felt like minutes, though Wren knew it was only a few heartbeats of time and then the woman disappeared back into the shadows of the alley. Scrambling to her feet, Wren grabbed her cane and ignoring the pain she quickened her pace as she headed for the Chantry.

So many stairs, she silently cursed as she held the stone banister in one hand, her cane in the other. At the top, there was a crush of people and a barricade manned by a handful of Templars. None she recognized though. Hurrying up, she tried to push past. 

“Get back!” he shouted at her, pushing her back from the rope that hung before the corridor that led to the Chantry. 

“Let me through!” Wren shouted. “I’m a healer! I can help!” In the courtyard before her, she could see many injured, and more dead covered with whatever linens they could find.

“The Knight-Commander forbade anyone else to enter!” 

“Fuck the Knight-Commander!” The Templar’s eyes went wide with shock at her words. “Let me through!” 

Cullen felt as if he might be in shock. He’d witnessed the death of the Viscount at the hands of the Arishok. He’d watched Hawke challenge him and stood in awe of the battle waged, certain that Hawke would be defeated. That Hawke would die. 

Only he hadn’t. Hawke had somehow prevailed much to the disappointment of the Knight-Commander. Patrols he knew were supposed to be out, providing help to the wounded, and ushering the Qunari who still lived, onto a ship and out of Kirkwall. 

Angry shouts reached his ears and he instantly recognized the voice. “Fuck the Knight-Commander!” The corner of his mouth twisted, despite the horror that surrounded him. He ran toward the shouting, saw a Templar attempting to restrain Wren, but she wasn’t having it. Cullen was half tempted to let her hit the man with her cane, but he saw the red stains and didn’t know if it was her blood or not.

“Remove your hands from her,” he said, his voice a low threat.

“But Knight-Captain, she-” 

“I said,” he tugged at where the rope hung from a peg on the wall, stepped beyond it. “Remove your hands, or I will do it for you.” The man blanched and Cullen held his hand out to Wren. She took it and he felt her trembling. “The Infirmary is this way, Jaques will be glad to have your help,” he drew her close and led her away from the crowd of people. Tugging her around a corner, he stopped, pulled her to face him and gripped her shoulders. “What in the name of the Maker were you thinking coming all the way out here?” he rasped. Bloodstains on her dress, her hands and up her arms. Her feet were bare and she didn’t have her hair bound back with the usual scarf she so often used to restrain her curls and conceal the half points of her ears.

“I heard the screaming, I- I had to-” tears shone in her eyes and Cullen cupped her face, angled her head back to peer into her eyes.

“It’s a miracle-” he broke off, stroked his thumb down her throat to where there was a line of blood. Wren hissed quietly. 

“I’m okay,” she told him, tugging his hand away from her throat. “It’s fine, I’m okay, let me help, you know I can.” 

She’d explain later, Cullen told himself, and then unable to restrain himself any longer, he dragged her close, hugged her and kissed her, fiercely. “Yes, Jaques truly will be glad to have your help.” Cullen took her hand and led her through the back door of the infirmary. Beds were full and injured were laid out on cots and the floor. A handful of mages who had some skill in healing where there, trying to help. But they weren’t equipped for this sort of thing. No one in Kirkwall was.

“Jaques, this is Wren, she can help,” Cullen called to the old man who stood beside a bed, his hands bloodied as he worked on stitching a wound closed.

“Good,” the man called back. “Start over there,” he said jerking his chin toward one end of the long room.

Wren released his hand, and Cullen saw how she leaned on her cane, the limp in her step as she hurried to one of the injured laid out on the floor. She stopped, turned. “My bag,” she said, staring up at Cullen.

“I’ll get it,” Cullen told her. He cupped her face, smoothing her hair back. “Stay here, do not leave this room, promise me.” 

Wren covered his hands with her own. “I promise.”

The Knight-Commander was distracted now, he knew. The death of the VIiscount had shifted the balance of power and her decree that Kirkwall would be controlled by the Templars now. “Alright, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Cullen slipped out the door and took the back way down into Darktown. 

Cullen had spent a lot of time in Darktown over the last year, he’d seen it bustling with people, he’d seen it in the dead of night when only the toughest or the poorest were out on the streets. But now it was eerily quiet. The streets were empty. As he grew closer to the edge where it met with Lowtown, he found smears of blood on the dirt and on doors. But shutters were drawn shut and it was utterly still.

As he approached Wren’s door, he spotted the body of the old woman who lived across the way and bowed his head. The old woman had helped him more than once. Helped Wren. Quickly slipping through the door, Cullen found Wren’s bag, he opened it and peered inside, making sure it contained all the things he knew she often used. Then snapping it shut, he ducked back outside and locked the door behind him. 

He heard a sound. One full of anguish. Cullen looked, didn’t see anything, but headed in the direction it came from. A figure with long dark hair, matted with blood, sat hunched in the center of the street, curled over a body in their lap. The quiet keening sound broke his heart. Crouching down cautiously, Cullen reached out for the person’s shoulder. “Are you-” he broke off when the face turned.

Mathari, pale as a ghost, with blood and dirt and ash on her cheeks, streaked by tears. She sobbed, clutched the body tighter to her chest and then finally Cullen looked down. Tamcen, Mathari’s younger brother lay still across her lap. “Wren, I need Wren, Tamcen, Mamae-” she broke off as another keening wail escaped her lips.

Cullen glanced up the way they had likely come, saw Shava prone on the street. “Mathari, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” 

“Please,” she wailed. “Get Wren, she can… she can help.” 

“Sweetheart,” Cullen murmured and carefully reached out to take Tamcen from her.

“No!” Mathari shouted and tried to cling to him, but she let out another cry, one of obvious pain and Cullen saw her forearm, the way it bent unnaturally. “No, I-” she sobbed. “Cullen. Help them.” Cullen knew he had to hurry, but he couldn’t just leave their bodies in the street.

Smoothing back Mathari’s hair he kissed her forehead. “I’ve got them, sweetheart,” he promised and carefully lifted Tamcen from her lap. He carried the boy the short distance back to Wren’s, laid out a blanket on the floor and placed the boy on it before rushing back to repeat the task with Shava. At least their bodies wouldn’t be desecrated. When he turned to lock the door, Mathari stood, swaying unsteadily. “How badly are you hurt?”

“I’m not-” her brow furrowed and he saw her dagger was missing from its sheath. “The Qunari-” she broke off with another sob, and Cullen caught her in his arms before she collapsed. He cradled her against his chest, went back for Wren’s bag and debated for a moment. Going through the Market meant there would be more people, but it would be quicker to get back to Wren. He hurried, not wanting to lose another moment.

Near one of the stairways, Cullen saw a dead Qunari, Mathari’s blade jutting up from their back. Mathari was limp in his arms, and he sent up a silent prayer. There was so much blood he didn’t know how much was her own, and how much belonged to her mother and brother. It was obvious she had tried to carry them to Wren’s, despite her own injuries.

Stepping through the back door, Wren’s head lifted from where she stood at a basin of water washing her hands, her lips parted and though he didn’t hear the sound, Cullen felt her anguish as she ran the length of the room to him. “Mathari, oh, Gods, no. Oh, Gods,” Her hands hovered, and she looked frantic, desperate, her eyes were wild with terror. “No, no, please-” 

“Take your bag,” Cullen said, keeping his voice low and calm, though he felt the same fear Wren did. “Wren,” his voice came out sharper and she jerked, met his gaze and then drew in a breath. She took the bag with trembling hands and Cullen carried Mathari to an empty cot and relayed what he’d seen, and what he’d done with Tamcen and Shava. Tears were rolling down her cheeks by the time Wren knelt beside the girl. “Can I help?” he offered.

Wren looked up at him. “Go… go find others who are injured.” 

Cullen hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and pressed a kiss first to the top of Wren’s head, and then, oh-so-carefully smoothed his hand over the crown of Mathari’s head and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.


	26. Chapter 26

Cullen left and Wren drew in a deep breath, lowered her head and looked Mathari over. It didn’t take her long to discover that most of the blood was not her own, save for the blood that matted her hair due to a large gash on the back of her skull. She cleaned and stitched it closed before turning her attention to the broken arm. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured. Wren had never set a bone before. At least, nothing quite so severe. Looking up, she spotted the older man who Cullen had called Jaques. “Serah,” she called, as he finished his own task. 

A little hunched in the shoulders, but surprisingly agile, he made his way to her. “Yes?”

“I’ve never set a broken arm,” she admitted. “I’m afraid- I have been teaching her everything I know about healing, she has quite the knack for it, but I’m afraid if I were to set her arm wrong-” 

“That she wouldn’t have full use of it?” he finished when Wren broke off, searching for the correct words. She gave a small nod of her head. “Alright, let’s see what we can do for her. Did you give her something to sleep?”

“No,” Wren said. “She passed out not long after Cullen found her, she hasn’t woken. Bad blow to the head, I’m afraid she may have a concussion,” Wren reached up, smoothed her fingers down Mathari’s cheek.

Jaques gave a slight nod, padded off, then returned after a few moments with a small cup in hand. “Setting the arm will likely wake her, she needs a good healing sleep. See that she drinks this.”

Wren took the cup, set it aside, and didn’t object when Jaques reached out and took her hands. “Like this,” he told her, guiding her hands. Feeling for the break, the twist in the arm. A tug and a strangely muffled snap and Mathari’s eyes were wide, a hoarse scream escaping her lips.

Wren cupped her face, leaned in close and pressed her forehead to Mathari’s. “Hush, shhhh, Mathari, sweetheart, breathe. Remember, breathe with me,” she murmured and felt the tears that leaked from the corners of Mathari’s eyes against her fingertips. “Shhh, I’m here. You’re okay. No, no don’t move. You can’t move, alright? Just stay still for me.” 

Mathari blinked slowly, strangled gasping sobs escaping her. “Wren? Cullen- he-” Another sob wrenched out of her and Wren kissed her forehead.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I’m so sorry.” Wren closed her eyes tightly against the burn of tears. After a few moments, she withdrew, grabbed the cup and slipped a hand beneath Mathari’s head. “Drink this, it’ll help with the pain.” Once the contents were gone, Wren sat back and began to bandage Mathari’s arm in the thick gauze dipped in clay to set the cast while Mathari watched with a half-lidded gaze, while tears continue to leak from her eyes.

By the time Wren finished, Mathari was asleep and after one last kiss to her forehead, Wren stood, washed her hands and made her way to the next person, then the next. It was a blur of anguish and injuries. Exhaustion pulled at her, but she fought it off. So many bodies. So many hurt. “Rest,” Jaques ordered eventually.

“No, I’m fine,” Wren said, waving him off. She’d just finished bandaging a wound on some noble who’d been in shock muttering about heads rolling downstairs.

“That is the last of them,” he said, nodding to the noble. 

Wren shook her head, frowned and looked around. “No, that is… impossible…” she trailed off, looking around the room. Beds and cots were full. Some were laid out on makeshift pallets on the floor. At the far end of the room was a pile of cloth bound bodies. But he was right. Everyone living in the infirmary had been seen to. But there must be more, she thought. Of course, there were more injured, ones who hadn’t been brought to the Chantry. 

Pushing up to her feet, her knees buckled and she hit the ground hard, cursing quietly. She was exhausted. Wren had poured so much of herself into these people, trying to help even a fraction as much as the handful of mages had. Though most weren’t used to seeing this sort of thing, one had passed out when instructed to heal a gut wound and the remaining ones, though stronger of stomach, hadn’t lasted long before they’d needed lyrium, which the Templar on guard was not willing to give them. 

“Why don’t you sit with Natalia,” Jaques suggested, reaching out a hand to Wren. “I am certain she could use the company.”

She took his hand, let him help her to her feet before she grabbed her cane from where it rested against a table. “Who is that?”

“A young mage who gave birth just this morning,” he told her, leading her to a side room. He drew out a ring of keys unlocked the door and pushed it open. 

Wren frowned, not understanding. “Why is she locked in here?” Beyond the door, the woman who looked to be at least a few years younger than Wren herself sat on the edge of a bed, a baby wrapped in a blanket clutched to her chest. She flinched, clutched the child tighter. “What-” 

“Sadly,” Jaques continued as he walked inside. “Mages are not allowed to keep any children they might have. Rules of the Chantry.” He drew the blanket back a bit, peered down at the child and Wren saw the tears rolling down the woman’s cheeks. “The children are given to the Chantry, if they don’t show signs of magic, they are given over to the Templars.” 

Bile burned Wren’s throat at the thought of it. To be trapped in a Circle, nothing was yours. Not even your own child. “That’s bullshit,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Hmm,” Jaques shrugged. “It is the way of the Chantry. Though because of the earlier events, Natalia here has been granted a few days reprieve. But is it a blessing, or a curse? More time spent with a child she won’t be allowed to watch grow up.” 

Wren wanted to yell at the old man, his words were cruel. Why was he saying all of this? Surely the young woman knew and it was apparent that she was struggling with the reality of it already. 

“I’ll go get you two something to eat, must keep up our strength.” Then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

“Who are you?” Natalia asked, staring at Wren. “Are you… are you the one who is going to take my baby?”

“No,” Wren said quickly with a shake of her head. Then she sighed and sunk down into the wooden chair near the bed. “Gods, no. I am just a healer, have you… heard about what happened?” Natalia nodded. “I only came to help. I’m…” she hesitated. “I’m not exactly the Knight-Commander’s favorite person, so I’m not supposed to leave the infirmary.”

Natalia canted her head to the side then slid off the bed. “Do you want to hold him then?”

“Are you sure?” Wren asked and Natalia smiled, then gently laid the sleeping baby in her arms. “Oh,” Wren breathed. “He’s precious,” she murmured, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. Gods, what was wrong with her? She was tired, she knew and the idea of this woman who obviously wanted to keep this child having to give him up, it broke her heart. “Have you… have you named him?”

Natalia looked away. “They told me not to. The Chantry will choose one for him.” 

Wren had on a handful of occasions helped women through their labor. But more often than not, she only saw an infant if they were sick. “Hm,” she hummed quietly, stroking a fingertip along his very chubby cheek then down along his pink lips to a round chin. 

“Henry,” Natalia said after a moment. “I wanted to name him Henry.” 

“Henry,” Wren echoed the name, smiled as the baby opened his eyes, blinked as if stirring to the sound of his name. “I think he likes it. Don’t you Henry.” 

The door opened again and Jaques stood with a tray in his hands. “Natalia, you’re supposed to be in bed, resting,” he instructed and she obeyed, climbing back into the bed and under the covers. He crossed to her, set down the tray and then moved one of the plates to rest on the small bedside table at Wren’s elbow. “Both of you should eat.” Then he left again and the room fell silent save for the baby’s quiet cooing.

Wren wasn’t sure how long she sat there, cradling the infant in her arms. Both Natalia and baby Henry slept, and it completely broke Wren’s heart to know the Chantry would take this woman’s child away from her.  _ “I don’t want him to grow up to be a Templar,” _ Natalia had said as she lay curled up on her side, her eyes barely open _. “I want him to be kind. I want so much more for him.” _ There were tears in the woman’s voice and Wren had silently prayed to Mythal that this young lady would get her wish.

A sound caught Wren’s attention and she glanced up toward the door and saw Cullen standing there, leaning against the frame watching her. How was it possible to detest what he represented, but care so deeply for the man he was? Jaques appeared and bustled through the door, carefully lifting the child from Wren’s arms. “How are they?” Cullen asked, voice low in deference to the sleeping duo, while he reached out a hand to Wren. “I heard the labor was difficult for her.” 

Wren took her cane in one hand and then slipped her other hand into Cullen’s and allowed him to draw her to her feet.

“It was, I’m concerned for her health,” Jaques said as he carefully deposited the baby into the cradle beside the bed. Wren’s brow drew together. Natalia had seemed fine to her, if sad. “The child as well,” Jaques said with a sigh. “Quite sickly, I’m certain he won’t survive the week.” 

Wren’s head canted to the side as she listened to the two men. The child was perfectly healthy. Thriving. In her short time in the room he had suckled heartily at Natalia’s breast, let out an impressive belch and slept. So far as Wren could see, there was absolutely nothing wrong with mother or child.

“That is a shame,” Cullen said, his hand splaying along the small of Wren’s back. “That would mark the fifth child lost in the last year.” 

Angling her head up, she looked at Cullen, but his face gave nothing away. Then she looked back to Jaques as he drew one of the thin blankets up over Natalia. “It isn’t all that uncommon, is it Wren?” He turned his head, and did he just wink at her?”

“No,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “It isn’t uncommon. Illness often claims the babes within the first year.” She’d bore witness to plenty of that.

“Well,” Cullen said with a sigh. “We’ll give it a few days, wouldn’t be able to transfer the child to another Chantry as it is right now anyway. Keep me apprised of the situation.” Then Cullen looked down at Wren and her heart was pounding in her chest. 

Jaques was sneaking new mothers and their children out and away from the Circle, wasn’t he? Did Cullen know? Was he helping? Wren desperately wanted to know, but a part of her feared that if Cullen didn’t know, he’d put a stop to it.  _ He got Rory out _ , she thought hopefully, but no, she wouldn’t say a word. “How is Mathari?” he asked, his voice gentle and full of worry.

“Physically, she’s alright,” Wren told him.

“Can we see her?” 

Wren nodded and ignored the stiffness in her body, all the aches and pains as they made their way back into the main room of the infirmary and over to where Mathari slept, laid out on a cot. “Her arm was broken, a bad cut on the back of her head, but that was all.” 

“How long do you think she’ll sleep?”

“Jaques said the tonic should keep her out for about 12 hours.” 

“Good, you should be here when she wakes, but you need to rest.” Cullen leaned down and Wren’s heart clenched as he pressed a kiss to Mathari’s forehead, then once again, held his hand out to her. She took it and allowed him to lead her out of the infirmary. They walked slow, Wren leaning heavily on her cane. “You’re hurting,” he murmured.

“It’s alright… is this… is it okay for me to be in here? The Knight-Commander-” she broke off, nervous butterflies fluttering around in her belly.

“Is quite distracted with other matters,” Cullen said. “Come, rest,” he unlocked a door, pushed it open and they stepped inside. The room wasn’t large. Sparse decorations. A bed, a nightstand, a plain rug on the stone floor. There was a simple wooden chair at a desk littered with papers. Cullen closed and locked the door and then continued. “The washroom is through here, you can clean up, I’ll find something else for you to wear to sleep in.” Wren opened her mouth, but Cullen held up a hand, cutting her off. “Don’t argue with me, you’re exhausted.” He cupped her face and she leaned into the touch.

“I wasn’t going to argue,” she told him softly and he raised his brows. “I was going to thank you.” 

He stared at her for a moment, then ducked his head and kissed her softly. “Come on,” he led her into the small room off the bedroom. The stone tub was set in the floor and had stairs that led into it. “The water comes out hot,” he explained, pointing to the two knobs, he turned them and the water poured from the spout in a rush. “If you’d rather, turn this one,” he demonstrated and the water began to pour down from a large steel square in the ceiling. 

Wren was in awe, she’d never seen anything quite like it. Cullen kissed her temple. “Take as long as you like,” he told her and then he was gone. Wren stripped out of her clothes, held the wall as she took the two steps down into the tub and the water drenched her instantly. It was blissfully hot and she thought she might melt, but it was divine.

Leaving Wren alone was one of the more difficult things Cullen had done in the last hour, but he wanted to return to the infirmary. He found Jaques, spoke with him for a few moments and then after stopping once more to check on Mathari, he returned to his quarters. He could still hear the water running. Cullen grabbed the nicer of his towels, a clean tunic and set them on the counter in the washroom. He could barely see Wren through all the steam. Returning to his room, he set the tablets that Jaques had given him on the nightstand and stripped out of his armor. 

Wren padded out a few minutes later, skin still a little damp, causing the tunic to cling to her breasts. She held the towel against her hair, rubbing it dry. “That may have been the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt,” she told him and his mouth quirked up at the corner.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said then gestured to the nightstand. “Jaques said that should help with the pain.” Cullen saw the frown crease Wren’s forehead. “I mentioned that you could only use that powdered flower, and he said that this was the same, just a different way of breaking it down. It might not be as effective but should help all the same. But let it dissolve under your tongue. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to-” he gestured to the washroom and Wren nodded before she headed for the bed. Cullen watched her for a moment, she picked up the tablets, inspected them, then stuck them in her mouth.

In the washroom, Cullen saw Wren’s dress scrubbed relatively clean, dripping from where it hung on a peg near the shower. He stripped, climbed into the shower and let out a shuddering breath. The events of the day finally catching up with him. He’d witnessed such horrific things, so much pain, and death. Mathari and Wren, Maker, they were safe, he told himself. But it didn’t change the fact that he now wanted to lock them away, drag them kicking and screaming from Kirkwall if he had to, just to keep them safe.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _smutty smut at the horizontal line - continues through to the end._

While Cullen showered, he thought of Wren. When he’d stepped into the doorway of that room and saw her cradling the infant in her arms, he’d lost his breath. His heart had begun to beat wildly in his chest and he’d felt the most powerful  _ want _ he’d ever known. It wasn’t lust. It was just a pure desire to love her, to have a future with her. Rubbing his hands over his face beneath the spray of water he tried to reconcile it all. Because he knew that so long as he was a Templar, he couldn’t truly have her. 

Shutting off the water, he toweled off, dressed in plain trousers and a tunic before walking back into the bedroom. Wren sat perched on the edge of his bed, her hands in her lap, her head down. “Did it help?” he asked, crossing over to sit down beside her. 

Wren looked up. “What?” 

“The tablets.”

“Oh, yes, actually, they did. I’ll have to speak with Jaques about that. How it is made. It would be much easier, hot water isn’t always available when I’m trying to help someone.” 

Cullen reached out, smoothed his hand down the back of her head, fingers sliding through her hair. “Wren,” he said quietly and she looked up at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked when he didn’t continue.

Drawing in a breath, Cullen shifted off the bed, he sunk down onto his knees in front of her, then took her hands in his. She watched him, he saw the wary curiosity on her face. “There is something… I need to…” the words were a jumble in his head. Tangling on his tongue as he stared at her. 

She tugged one hand free, cupped his jaw, her palm rubbing along the stubble there. “What is it?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

Even in the dimly lit room, her turquoise eyes shone. “I love you,” the words left his lips and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I am in love with you, I have been, for a very long time. Since the beginning, honestly.” Her lips parted, snapped shut, then slowly parted again, no sound left her though, and she’d gone so still before him. “You don’t need to say anything. I don’t expect that you’d… that you’d reciprocate the feelings. But, after everything I saw today. The death and the pain, the thought of something happening and not having told you how I truly felt? It was terrifying.”

Cullen traced his fingers along her jaw, half afraid that she would push him away. “I just needed to tell you, that you mean so very much to me. I love you and your safety and happiness means everything to me.” 

She just kept staring at him and Cullen was afraid he’d made a mistake. But then, after a moment, she cupped his face between her hands and kissed him, her legs wrapped around his middle and she pulled him tight against her. Cullen groaned, his tongue stroking against hers while he wrapped her hair around one hand, and braced himself on the edge of the bed with the other. He pushed up, lifting her and then stretching out with her beneath him.

He felt almost desperate to have her skin against his, to push into her and hear her soft cries. He didn’t object when Wren rolled them so she was over him. She tugged at his shirt and he sat up enough to yank it over his head and toss it away, but when he reached for her, she slapped his hands away and grinned at him. “Not yet,” she said.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Then she was shifting down his body, her fingers tugging at the ties, the light sensation through the material against his cock made him shudder. “Wren,” he groaned quietly, reaching for her, but she batted his hands away again. His pants went the same way as his tunic and he lay on his bed, Wren kneeling between his thighs looking down at him. 

Wren’s fingers curled around his length and Cullen sunk his teeth into his lip and curled his hands in the bedding. She stroked him, slow pumps of her tight fist. The nails of her other hand lightly scraped his thigh, up over his hip bone, along the crease of his groin and then he sucked in a breath when one finger teased the head of his cock. “Wren,” he said her name again and it sounded desperate to his own ears. She flashed him a grin and he watched her as she lowered her head and then nothing else existed as her lips, warm and wet sucked at the head of his erection.

Cullen slammed his fist against his mouth, bit down to try and stifle the bellow. He tasted blood on his tongue, but what did it matter when Wren was sweetly sucking on his cock. Her head bobbed and her fist pumped in time with her mouth. Quiet sounds reached his ear, her soft humming that he felt through the length of him, the slurp and suck as she bobbed. “Fuck,” he rasped out. “Wren, Wren-” his hips began rocking, though he desperately tried to stay still. 

She lifted her head, met his gaze and he watched her tongue slip out from pink lips and tease the slit of his cock. “I am going to come,” he rasped and her lips curved.

“Good,” Wren said, then lowered her head again, this time holding his gaze as she began stroking him in earnest. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, unable to hold it in as his back bowed and pleasure coursed through him. Wren kept it up, sucking and stroking until he thought he’d gone blind. Then just before he opened his mouth to beg her to stop, so sensitive, she nuzzled his hip, kissed his belly, and careful not to rub against his still twitching length, she shifted up his body.

“Fuck,” Cullen repeated, this time a rasp as he wrapped his arms around her. He lifted his head to kiss her, but she turned her face away. Cullen frowned, cupped her jaw and tried again, but once more, she turned her head.

Then she was pushing away, shaking her head. “You don’t want to kiss me yet, let me go rinse my mouth first,” she climbed off the bed and Cullen grabbed onto her wrist, stopping her.

“Is it that bad?” he asked and she shook her head.

“It’s not… I don’t mind it.” She shook her head again. “I don’t mind when it’s  _ you _ ,” she amended. “But no man wants to kiss a woman who just had her mouth on his cock.”

The idea of it felt wrong to Cullen. He sat up, gripping Wren close to keep her from walking away. “If you are willing to take me in your mouth, to let me come on your tongue, the least I can do is kiss you after.” Curling his hands in her hair, he angled her head and claimed her mouth with his own. 

Then he dragged her back down to the bed, dipped one hand between her thighs and found her damp and oh-so-ready. Wren let out a little moan as he kissed down her throat, tugging the tunic up as he shifted down further to worship her breasts first, then lower still. Over her belly, he settled between her thighs. “Oh, you-” she pushed up onto her elbows and peered down at him. “You don’t have to-”

“Do you want me to?” he asked and her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink as she ducked her head, averting her gaze. “Wren, love,” he murmured ducking his head to kiss her thigh before drawing it over his shoulder. She gasped, looked back at him. “Do you want me to kiss you here?” he grazed his knuckles over her curls and Wren swallowed hard, then nodded.

Shifting a hand to her other thigh, he nudged them further apart. The musky scent of her desire hit him and he almost groaned. Cullen wanted to bury his face between her thighs, to gorge himself on her taste. But more than that, he wanted to bring her pleasure, to explore every inch of her. 

Wren stared down at where Cullen lay stretched out between her thighs. Her cheeks were burning red hot. He held her gaze as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her mound. Then she felt his fingers parting her folds followed by the wet slide of his tongue and then his lips. Collapsing fully back onto the bed, Wren clamped her hand over her mouth as Cullen touched her, explored her with long strokes of his tongue and soft sucking kisses. 

She was trembling. This inexorably slow build of pleasure was almost unbearable. The sensation of his tongue circling her clit while two fingers slowly pumped in and out of her core was too much and still not enough. “Gods,” she rasped, pressed her hand over her mouth. The very last thing they needed was some curious Templar walking past and hearing her cries of pleasure. “Cullen, Cullen-” His fingers curled forward and rubbed, the steady flick of his tongue grew just a bit firmer and Wren bit down hard on her knuckles. But the low keen of pleasure was coming from the back of her throat and nothing short of a pillow over her face was going to muffle the sound. 

Thrusting one hand down to curl in his hair, Wren arched, twisting her head to the side, she used her other hand to press the pillow to her face. One of Cullen’s strong arms was curled under her thigh, his hand splayed over her belly, holding her still for his ministrations. Her lower body seemed to have taken on a mind of its own and she couldn’t control it as her thighs pressed against Cullen’s head, her hips lifting, as if somehow she could get closer. 

She cried out, her entire body going rigid as the dam of pleasure broke, and the steady stroking of fingers and tongue pushed her over the edge. “Cul-Cullen!” Trembling, she reached for him, tugged at his hair, tried to order her thighs to loosen. Despite the satisfaction that coursed through her body, she needed more. Wren felt something akin to desperation as she tried to drag Cullen up the length of her body. “Please, please,” she begged, gasping.

Cullen kissed her, a hard tangling of tongues as his chest pressed against hers. His length slipped through her folds, grazed her still sensitive clit and she bit down on his lip. “I need-” she breathed against his mouth.

“Tell me,” he murmured, one of his big hands sliding along her hip, the dip of her waist. “Tell me, love, anything.” 

Wren’s eyes fluttered open, she didn’t remember even closing them, and she met Cullen’s gaze. For a moment, her heart felt shattered. He loved her, and she wanted to curse the Gods for it because Wren knew they had no future together. Then she felt his fingers graze her cheek and she pulled herself from the wretched truth, pushed him onto his back and sat up, straddling his hips, her tunic slipped back down and she yanked it off then threw it over her shoulder. “I need you,” she said, curling her hand around his length, “in me.” She lifted her body up and then impatient the moment she felt his cock against her slit, Wren drove her hips down.

Cullen let out a strangled sound and Wren bit down on her lip to keep from screaming out his name as he filled her, stretched her and seemed to fit so perfectly. Cullen’s hands held onto her thighs, his grip so tight she might have bruises come morning, and she didn’t care. She wanted more. She wanted to be marked by this man and that thought was mildly terrifying. “Cullen,” she gasped out his name, leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. 

“Wren,” he breathed her name, one of his hands gliding up her back to splay between her shoulders. “Love.” Cupping the side of his face with one hand, the other braced against the bed she began to move, slowly rolling thrusts of her hips. “Maker-” Cullen groaned, lifted his hips up and Wren felt her breath catch. 

Their movements didn’t stay slow for long, need had Wren sitting up once more, her back arching as she rode him. Cullen still gripped her thigh, his own thrust keeping time with hers while his free hand cupped her breasts, teased her nipples. He stroked down her belly and then his thumb slid through damp curls to find that already sensitive nub. Cullen’s thrust grew harder, rougher and Wren relished in it. “Gods! Yes! Cullen!”

Her thighs burned and the nagging pain from the night before was there, a frustrating reminder. But then Cullen bucked beneath her, choked her name out as he pulsed inside her, filling her and she wished, not for the first time, that everything about their pasts had been different and that their circumstances were not what they were. 

Leaning down, Wren cupped his face and kissed him in a soft kiss that belied the rapid beating of her heart, and the frantic grab for pleasure from just seconds earlier. Cullen wrapped his arms around her, clutched her to his chest and kissed her back with the same unerring tenderness. 


	28. Chapter 28

Wren wasn’t sure how much sleep they actually got. They had laid in bed, sweat-slicked skin cooling, heartbeats slowing, for a long time before Cullen got up, doused the lights and then climbed back in beside her. He had gathered her into his arms as they both lay on their sides facing each other and the sensation of Cullen’s fingers trailing up and down her spine was calming, it should have put her right to sleep, but her mind raced.

When morning came, her dress still hung dripping in the bathroom, so Cullen had found a tunic for her to wear along with the smallest trousers he could find. Wren cinched the ties and offered Cullen a lopsided smile. “Well, it’s comfortable,” she said with a shrug. She was surprised when Cullen left his Templar armor hanging on the rack and took her hand in his as they left his room and made their way down the narrow corridors. They passed a handful of mages and Templar, some outright ignored them, while others cast warily curious glances their way. 

Pushing open the door to the infirmary, Wren glanced around. There was a quiet hum of voices, but it seemed as if little had changed in the hours they’d been gone. Except for one thing. Mathari stood at a worktable near Jaques but looked up when she heard the door. Then she was running, sprinting across the room to fling herself at them. 

Cullen caught her small frame easily, held her and Wren turned, splayed her own hand over Mathari’s back. “Oh, sweetheart, I meant to be here when you woke, I’m sorry,” Wren said and Mathari shook her head.

“S’okay,” but her voice cracked and Wren saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. They stayed like that for several long minutes, the three of them holding each other close. Finally, Mathari drew back and wiped at her cheeks with her good hand.

“You’ll both stay here today,” Cullen said, stroking his hand down Wren’s back, then reaching out to touch Mathari’s cheek. “Please, let me make sure everything is safe first.”

“Of course,” Wren said and then he excused himself to speak with Jaques and Wren turned to Mathari. “Asking if you’re okay seems a bit ridiculous at the moment,” she said, cupping the young girl’s face between her hands. “But can I do anything?”

Mathari sniffled, shook her head. “Serah Gerin said he wanted to teach me stuff. Healing stuff. ‘Cause you said I was a good student.” 

Wren felt her heart swell with pride and gratitude for the old man. “You are, you’re the best, and I think you should. He knows far more than I do.”

Frowning, Mathari shook her head. “But you haven’t taught me everything yet, you said-”

“And I will, Mathari, sweetheart, you know you’re always welcome, I am so grateful for your help and there  _ is  _ more I can teach you. But Serah Gerin knows things I don’t, like setting bones,” she said, reaching out to touch Mathari’s cast. And Creators knew, Mathari could use the distraction, something to focus her energy on, other than the grief. Cullen crossed back over to them a moment later, cupping the back of their heads and kissing their foreheads in turn, though his lips lingered against Wren’s for much longer. “I’ll see you later,” he said and then he was gone. Mathari returned to Jaques’s side and Wren set to looking over the patients. She changed bandages, checked wounds, all the while keeping an eye on Mathari. 

When the girl slipped away sometime a few hours later, Wren followed, then held her as she sobbed. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, I know, I’m so sorry.” Wren held her as they sat on the floor of a small closet meant for storage. Wren remembered her own losses, her mother, then Lanasa years later. “I’m here for you, anything that you need, I’m here for you,” she vowed, her arms around the girl’s trembling body. 

After the tears subsided, Wren nudged Mathari onto a cot, got her a cup of tea with a small dose of a sleeping draught and insisted she rest. When she finally did, Wren sagged. She felt drained. “Thank you,” she murmured to Jaques. 

“For what?” he asked, thick brows lifting.

Wren inclined her head toward Mathari’s sleeping form. “Offering to teach her, she’s…” She was the closest to a little sister, or even a daughter, that she might ever know. Her suffering broke Wren’s heart, but the knowledge that Mathari wouldn’t one day be in her own shoes made her feel just a bit better. 

“She’s a bright, young lady,” Jaques said. “Eager to learn. I wouldn’t object if you joined her in these lessons.” 

Wren jerked her head back around looked at the old man in surprise. “I appreciate that,” she told him. “But I’ll have to decline. The Knight-Commander and I are not particularly on the best of terms. I think it would be unwise for me to be here.” Even now, she worried. There would likely be repercussions for both Cullen and herself once the incident with the Qunari faded a bit. 

A few more hours passed, Wren visited with Natalia and Henry, reassured herself that they were both perfectly healthy. Not a single thing wrong with them. She’d questioned Jaques about the tablets and he’d shown her how to prepare them. Mathari had slept for hours, then when she woke she’d tucked herself against Wren’s side and listened to Jaques’s impromptu lesson.

When Cullen returned, his hair was damp and he’d changed his clothes. Wren frowned but didn’t object when he drew her away from Jaques and Mathari. “What-” He cupped her face, kissed her, soft and quick. When he broke the kiss, Wren reached up, splayed her hand over his chest. “Tell me what’s wrong?” The Knight-Commander? Had she figured out Wren was here?

“The cart is going through town,” he said and she frowned. “Collecting the bodies.” 

Wren’s stomach twisted. She was all too familiar with the mass pyres. “Oh, Gods,” she rasped, pressing her hand to her lips. Years earlier, after Lanasa had left her, and when Wren had finally gained the courage to leave the cottage, she’d traveled through a town that had suffered a terrible plague. So many had been dead. Fereldens burned their dead, and Wren remembered the stench vividly. Sweet cooking meat, mixed with the bitter stench of burned hair.

Cullen’s hands came down on her shoulders, rubbed up and down her arms. “I went to your hours, properly wrapped Shava and Tamcen’s bodies.” Eyes closing against the sudden burn of tears, Wren leaned her head forward and pressed her face against his chest. “I wasn’t sure she’d want them on the cart. But we have to do something Wren.” 

The heat, Gods, she could just imagine. A day had passed and their bodies had been locked up tight in her home. “No, not on the cart.” Wren couldn’t allow them to be just another shroud in the pile. But how could she ask Cullen for this? 

“Tell me how to help, Wren,” he tucked his fingers under her chin, tipping her face back until she looked at him. “How can I help you? How can I help Mathari?”

“Could you help us get them to the Storm Coast? We’ll burn them, but, I want her to be able to mourn them in private.” 

Ducking his head, Cullen pressed a kiss to her mouth. “I’ll arrange it, but we’ll have to do this tonight, Wren.” 

Then he was gone again and Wren focused on what they might need on their trip to the coast. It was dark by the time Cullen returned. A small wagon with a long wooden box that Wren knew already contained the bodies. Mathari had pressed her hands to her face and wept as she leaned against the box, the only light coming from the lone lantern that hung from a post on the wagon. Wren met Cullen’s gaze and she saw the understanding, but she also knew they couldn’t linger.

Wren wrapped her arms around Mathari’s shoulders. “Sweetheart, we must go,” she told her gently and Mathari jerked her head in a quick nod.

“I know-” her voice cracked and tears continued to stream down her cheeks, but she crew away from the cart and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m ready.” 

Cullen took the lead attached to the horse and then they were on their way. The trek was long, and the occasional rocky terrain was difficult for Wren, but not impossible. As they reached the point where it gave way to soft sand, Cullen tied the horse to a tree, he hesitated and looked at Wren. Mathari stood at her side and had been there the entire time and Wren knew it was because Mathari had worried she would fall. “I’m okay,” Wren told him, then inclined her head down to the shore. There was plenty of driftwood for the pyre. “Take care of them,” she said and then she began down the incline. Her back screamed with every step. The soft sand pulled at the end of her cane. Her breathing was labored and she cursed her body, cursed the bastard father she’d never known. “Go help Cullen gather the wood,” Wren said, giving Mathari’s shoulder a gentle nudge. 

“Are you sure?”

Pain and frustration made Wren want to snap, but she bit her tongue, jerked her head in a nod. By the time she finally reached the spot, the wood was piled up and the shrouded bodies lay amidst it. “May Falon’Din guide you to your rest,” Wren said. Cullen struck a match, then as Mathari stood at Wren’s side, he flanked her and slid his arm around Mathari’s shoulders. 

They stood like that for a long time, silent and watching as the fire grew. Eventually, Wren couldn’t stand any longer and shifted a short distance away to sit in the sand. The sun was peeking over the horizon as the fire finally began to die down. Mathari had fallen asleep hours in, her head resting on Wren’s thigh. “The tide will carry the remains away, but,” she reached into the bag and pulled out a ceramic jar. “Would you fill that with ashes?” she asked holding the jar out to Cullen. “Elven tradition as I’ve heard is to plant a tree over the body. We can’t exactly do that, so, I had another idea.”

“Of course,” Cullen stood, walked down to the still smoldering pyre and eyed it. Using the lid he scooped until the jar was full and noted the tide was already beginning to lap at the edges of the pyre. After a silent promise to watch over Mathari he turned, looked up to where the two now stood, waiting for him he prayed that he could keep that promise.

He closed the distance, held out the jar and Wren took it, tucking it back into her bag. “Let me help,” he said gently, knowing the trek had been hard for her. She’d been hurting when she arrived at the infirmary the day before - _Maker, had that only been the day before?_

“I’m fine,” she said dismissively and Cullen frowned. “Wren, please.” He saw her jaw tense and then she jerked her head in a nod. She was not happy about it, that was clear. With an inward sigh, Cullen gathered her into his arms and carried her up the slope to where the cart waited. He was about to suggest she and Mathari climb on, but something on Wren’s face kept his mouth shut. 

It was midday by the time they returned to Kirkwall. Mathari had jumped onto the edge of the cart at one point, but Wren had stoically continued, silent with her head held high. Once the horse was secure near the Chantry, Cullen turned to them. “I’ll walk with you to Darktown,” he offered. 

“We’ll be fine,” Wren said, not meeting his gaze and Cullen pursed his lips. 

“Wren-”

“I’m certain you have duties to attend to.” Then she turned and stared down the stairs. Cullen stared after her, taken aback. Mathari hesitated, then quickly jumped up, hugging Cullen tightly around the shoulders.

“Thank you,” she told him, her voice thick with tears. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then ran to catch up with Wren.


	29. Chapter 29

Unlocking the door to the house, Wren pushed open the door and she and Mathari just stood there. The scent of death hung in the air, but it wasn’t completely overwhelming. Stepping inside, Wren hesitated seeing the bloodstains on the floor. Mathari made a quiet, broken sound, and Wren turned to her, gathering her in her arms. 

The girl had cried a few times during the night, silent tears that rolled down her cheeks, but now, she trembled with the force of her sobs and clung to Wren. Ushering her inside, Wren led Mathari to the bed. “Sit, just for a moment, I’ll be right back,” she promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then Wren the kettle on the stove, and sunk down beside Mathari once more. She held her, rocked her back and forth and made quiet shushing noises while stroking her hair. 

When the kettle boiled, Wren pulled back, she grabbed a linen handkerchief and handed it to Mathari before getting a mug and pouring in a bit of lavender and chamomile. She hesitated glanced at Mathari and then grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the top shelf, poured in a hefty shot and then topped it with hot water. 

Returning to Mathari’s side, Wren handed it to her and settled down beside her once more. She rubbed her back and stroked her hair. “You can stay here for as long as you want, as long as you need. I’m here for you, sweetheart, alright? Anything that I can do to help you, anything at all.” 

“I want them back,” Mathari sobbed quietly.

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Wren pressed her lips to Mathari’s temple and closed her eyes tightly against the burn of tears. “If I could bring them back for you, I would.” Teacup drained, Wren urged Mathari to lay down. “Just rest, your body still needs to heal.” Wren got up, lit a few of the lightly scented candles before settling back down beside Mathari. She stroked the girl’s hair until she was positive she was asleep before gripping her cane and crossing to the washroom.

Once inside, she leaned against the counter, pressed her face into her hands and began to sob As soon as the tears began to fall, Wren worried they would never stop. She hated the Qunari, she hated the Templars and the City Guard for not keeping the people safe. She hated Kirkwall. She hated Lanasa for abandoning her all those years ago. Wren hated her own body. How long until it gave out completely? How pathetic was she that she could barely manage to walk even a short distance anymore without help? 

A sound caught her attention from the other room, and worried that Mathari had woken, she quickly dashed at the tears, cursed her weakness. She should have waited to have a breakdown, she quickly yanked open the door. But Mathari still lay curled up on the bed where she’d left her. 

“Oh,” Cullen’s voice had her turning her head and she saw him standing by the door, having just closed it. “Wren?” he murmured, his voice gentle and Wren felt herself cracking again. Splintering and breaking apart. He loved her and she… she couldn’t love him back. She wouldn’t. Because she knew that it would only end in heartbreak. Tears dripped down her cheeks and he crossed the distance between them, gently cupped her face. “Love?” he said quietly. “I want to help,” he told her, “but if you need me to leave…” he left the words hanging and Wren curled her trembling hands in the front of his tunic.

Cullen was kind and so caring, not just for her. She’d watched him care for the people in Darktown too. Wren felt desperate, she needed him. Needed to be able to lean on him. But if she did that, and he left her like everyone else she’d loved? It would destroy her. Wren wanted to push him away, send him on his way and tell him to never return, but instead, she cursed her own weakness, threw her arms around him and buried her face against his throat. 

His arms wound around her waist, he lifted her easily and then she heard the soft snick of the washroom door closing. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, his voice so gentle that she only cried harder. 

Wren had no sense of time passing, but all the while, Cullen held her, soothed her. By the time the tears slowed she felt naked and raw, in a way that she had never experienced. He pressed a kiss to her temple and smoothed his hand from the back of her head down to the small of her back. “You should sleep, did you take anything for your back?” 

Drawing back, she shook her head sharply and avoided his gaze. “I’ll make you some tea, and you can lay down, try to get some rest.” 

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” the words came out harsh and bitter and she could feel his eyes on her.

“I know,” Cullen murmured. “I know you don’t.” He breathed out a sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “But I want to. I want to be able to help you in any small way that I can, that might make your life a little easier.” The defeat in his voice made Wren feel like an asshole. “If you want me to leave, I will. If you don’t-” he rubbed his hand over his mouth and studiously avoided looking at her. “If you don’t want me to come back, I’ll understand.” 

If she’d felt like an asshole before, now she felt like the worst possible scum. Wren tried to tell herself it was better off this way. Cullen only  _ thought  _ he loved her, but if they continued down the path they were on, another six months, a year, then where would they be? So she wrapped her arms around herself, shifted away as much as the small bathroom would allow and refused to look at him. 

The next few seconds dragged on for an eternity before she heard Cullen shift his weight. “Alright,” he murmured quietly. “Okay.” Then from the corner of her eye, she watched him run his hand through his hair, then grab the handle. It took every bit of willpower she possessed not to throw herself at him, to apologize and beg him to just love her for the rest of their lives. He hesitated another heartbeat as if he hoped for the same thing, then he walked out into the main room. Mathari still slept and he paused, looking down at her before he headed for the door. Wren stood, her shoulder braced against the door frame as he reached into his pocket, withdrew the key she’d told him to take over a year earlier and set it down on her worktable. 

Once the door was locked, Wren stretched out on the bed beside Mathari and prayed for sleep to come quickly. She was exhausted, by rights barely even conscious. But she simply stared up at the ceiling for hours, the tears now silent as they left silent tracks down her temples and into her hairline.

Cullen felt hollow. It was a strange sensation. Bereft and altogether aching. After the night before, it was the last thing he had expected. He’d chalked her earlier mood up to her being exhausted, in pain. Mourning right alongside Mathari. Rubbing his hand over his mouth as he made his way back to the Chantry, he wracked his brain for what he’d done wrong.

_ Did you really think she’d ever love you back? _

It was a bitter thought, one he’d accepted. He was young and naive, but he’d hoped.  _ Stupid _ , he thought. 

His heart ached at the thought of Mathari, the girl he’d grown so very fond of. But Wren would take care of her. They didn’t need him. Pushing through the door into the infirmary, the first thing he saw was Wren’s leather bag that held her healing supplies and his first instinct was to grab it, return it to her now, but then he stopped, shook himself and made a mental note to have someone take it tomorrow first thing.

The old healer was slipping out of the room the young woman and child had been in. “How are they?” Cullen asked.

“A shame, we lost them both. Sent them out on the cart today.” 

“Good, good,” Cullen nodded absently. “That’s… good.” While Cullen was not an active participant in the subterfuge of sneaking mages out, ever since he’d snuck Rory out himself, he and the Jaques had an agreement of sorts. Cullen could not abide by the cruelty, so he found himself doing what little he could to help. 

By sneaking mages out? Turning them into Apostates? Rubbing his hand over his mouth. How many of the mages phylacteries ‘gone missing’ in the last year? On record the mages had all died, there was no need for their phylacteries to be kept. Had he truly turned his back on the vows he’d made?

“Knight-Captain?” Cullen waved off the old man and walked out of the infirmary. He made his way through the Chantry and came to a stop in the lush room, that held the monument to Andraste. Candles burned on the vast tables, and Cullen went through the motions of lighting one, two, three, then a fourth. One for Shava, Tamcen, Madeline and all the rest who had died, though he imagined they wouldn’t welcome his prayers for them.

Then Cullen sunk down onto his knees before the statue and murmured the standard prayer before falling silent. He had forsaken the duties he’d made a vow to uphold. It was unforgivable, was it not? And he’d done it all because of a woman. For Wren. For a woman who had made it so very clear she did not want him.

If he felt bone-weary, he could only imagine how much worse it was for her, and he knew she was in pain, he tried to remind himself. 

But it still made his chest ache. Templars were meant to renounce all for the Chantry, but instead, after years of loyalty, he’d turned his back on it. “O Creator, see me kneel. For I walk only where You would bid me. Stand only in places You have blessed. Sing only the words You place in my throat.” With his head bowed low, Cullen prayed for guidance.


	30. Chapter 30

Wren spent three days trapped in her bed. Her body had finally revolted against the abuse of the last days, the miles of walking, the constant standing. Frustrated and mortified, she’d had no choice but to let Mathari help shoulder her into the washroom when she needed the privy. And Wren hadn’t objected when Mathari had thrust the small teacup with the healing concoction inside at her. 

“I could go get Anders,” Mathari offered midway through the second day when Wren had tried to roll over and been unable to stifle the cry of pain. Of course, Wren had refused. 

By day four, Wren forced herself out of bed and onto her feet, and then she’d outright lied to Mathari. “I’m fine,” she promised. “You should go see Serah Gerin, I know that he wanted your lessons to start as soon as you were up to it.” 

Hands on her hips, Mathari stared at her. “You shouldn’t be alone, your back is still-”

“Mathari!” Wren’s voice was tight. “I’m fine. It’s no worse than I’ve had before, it’s never stopped me from working. I’m just a bit stiff. Moving will do me some good.” Mathari’s hands fell limp down at her sides and Wren saw the tears. “I’m sorry, oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry for shouting at you. It wasn’t because of you, I swear. I’m just-”  _ so very tired. _ Wren crossed to her, one hand curled around her cane, holding her weight on it, as the other slid around Mathari’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. But you should go. It is a wonderful opportunity for you. There is so much he can teach you. Besides, the distraction will help, I promise. Your mamae would want this for you.” 

Mathari’s head jerked in a nod, and she hugged Wren back before leaving. Once she was alone, Wren collapsed into her chair, rested her elbows on the edge of the table and wept. She’d pushed Cullen away, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d do the same with Mathari. 

As the days passed, Darktown slipped back into its regular rhythm. As if the streets weren’t still stained red with blood. Mathari spent several hours up at the Chantry every day and would come back talking excitedly about what she’d learned, showing Wren the notes she’d taken. Neither mentioned Cullen. It made Wren’s heart hurt just to think about him. He was a fool for loving her, and she was an even bigger one for ever thinking they could pretend things were alright.   
  


Cullen wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, praying and trying to find the answers when he heard one of the side doors open. There was a quiet shuffling, and just as he stood up and turned, a boy, no more than sixteen saw him.

“Oh,” the boy gasped out, then quickly backed up, only to bump into a table and knock the vase of flowers over. “Oh, Maker, shit-” he dropped to his knees and Cullen crossed the room to help him. “Apologies, Knight-Captain, I didn’t mean-”

“You have no need to apologize,” Cullen said, crouching down to help the apprentice gather up the spilled flowers, but the boy’s hands were shaking so much he couldn’t get the flowers back into the vase. Cullen reached out, wanting to comfort the boy with a gentle hand on the shoulder, but he flinched, his head jerking up for a second and Cullen spotted the split lip, the bruising on his jaw. “Who hit you?”

“No one, Ser,” the boy said in a rush and then he was scrambling to his feet as if he’d run.

“Stop,” Cullen said and the boy froze, his entire body trembling. “Look at me,” he said, his voice soft, but firm.

“I won’t say nothin’, Knight-Captain, I never-” the words spilled out in a frantic rush.

Cullen closed his eyes, trying to calm the temper he felt rising. “Go to the infirmary, have Serah Gerin see to your injuries.” Soul-weary, Cullen watched the boy run off and hoped that he would listen to Cullen and go to the infirmary. Once he was finished with the mess, Cullen returned to his own quarters and fell face down on the bed.

The scent of Wren filled his nostrils and he groaned, rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He considered ripping the bedding off and tossing it to the floor. He was such a fool.

By morning, Cullen felt a new, stronger resolve. The abuse within the Kirkwall circle would end. He didn’t care what it took, but he was going to put a stop to it. First thing he went to the infirmary to speak with Jaques, to make sure the young apprentice had come and to see if perhaps he’d confided in the older man. While Jaques did confirm the boy, Damian had come he hadn’t spoken of who had hurt him.

So Cullen began to watch. He paid close attention to the Templars and made note of the most vocal ones. He watched the way the mages acted around the Templars, the ones they studiously avoided. It took surprisingly little time to figure out who the biggest problems were. And while he could see to have them transferred, he wouldn’t do that to another Circle, that might not have anyone to look out for the mages. 

Three weeks later, Cullen watched as Templar Matthias Brock left the mess hall alone, and then he followed him. Cullen trailed behind him as they made their way through the halls toward apprentice’s quarters. Matthias shoved open the door. “Damian!” it was a sharp bark and there was quiet scrambling inside the room. Ducking into a small alcove, Cullen listened, but no other words were spoken. Peering around the corner, the boy came out of the room and the door shut behind him. Matthias started walking and head hung low, Damian followed. Further down the hall, Cullen watched them go into a small storage room.

No more, Cullen thought, yanking open the door. Matthias had the boy pinned against a stack of crates.

“Knight-Captain, what-” Matthias frowned.

“Damian, get out,” Cullen said and the boy bolted past him. Matthias’ lip curled and he turned on Cullen. He was at least twenty years Cullen’s senior, and for a time, Cullen had believed that meant they understood more, there were obviously reasons for the ways they treated the mages. But Cullen had seen plenty in his short time as a Templar. He’d endured the abuse at the hands of Blood mages and demons, and while for a time, he hadn’t been kind, he’d never once considered such cruelty.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve-” Matthias started, but Cullen didn’t let him finish. He grabbed onto the older man, spun him around and shoved him hard, face first, up against the door. “What is the meaning of this!?” he shouted and tried to turn, but Cullen’s grip was unyielding. 

“How many others?” Cullen asked, his voice calm. “You’ve been a Templar for what, thirty years? How long did it take you to start dragging them into dark corners? How many would you say?”

Matthias jerked again and Cullen drew him back from the door only to shove him against it again, harder. His cheekbone cracked against the wood and blood trickled from his mouth, but he was grinning. “You really think you’re going to stop me? Or any of us? You think you’re so fucking noble? Those mages are abominations and deserve to be tossed in a cell to die.”

“Templars are meant to-”

“Keep those monsters in line,” he spat. “Fear keeps them weak.”

Cullen nearly rolled his eyes. He’d witnessed what fear did to mages. They turned to dark magic and would rather die than submit. “You’re a fool,” Cullen muttered. “You will never again lay so much as a fingertip on another mage, or I’ll-”

He laughed. “The Knight-Commander couldn’t care less about what we do to those freaks. She’d have them all turned Tranquil if she could. Less fun for me though, I like when they try and fight.” 

Cullen’s vision went red. There would be no slow easing into this. Grabbing Matthias’ hand, Cullen pinned it to the door. He looked confused. “Let me make this more clear, you lift a hand to harm another mage,” Cullen’s hand flashed down, withdrew the dagger on his belt and slammed it into the center of the other Templar’s hand. Through flesh and between bones until it struck home into the wooden door. “And you will no longer have a hand to lift.” 

Matthias let out a choked out scream and the stench of urine filled the small room. “You-you-you-” he stuttered, wailing. “Do I make myself clear, Templar?” Cullen gripped the dagger, tugged, but it was stuck. Twisting the blade slightly, blood rushed from the wound and Matthias made a quiet gagging sound. “I asked you a question,” Cullen said, ripping the dagger free, he pressed the tip to Matthias’ throat, just below his jaw. “It ends now. I see another mage with so much as a bruise, whether you put it there or not, and you and I will have another little visit like this.” 

Matthias was pale, trembling and Cullen hoped that the man felt even a fraction of the fear that the apprentices and mages felt when a Templar cornered them. And what kind of person did that make him? He wondered. “You should go to see the healer,” Cullen said. “Come, I’ll walk you.” Dragging the man back from the door, Cullen pulled it open. 

Damian stood there, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Matthias flinched back and Cullen shoved his shoulder, pushing him in the direction of the infirmary. “Shouldn’t you be in your lessons?” Cullen said to the boy.

“Yes, Ser, going Ser,” he said and then ran off in the opposite direction. No one spoke as Cullen walked behind Matthias toward the infirmary. But he saw the glances, knew the whispers would spread quickly. 

In the infirmary, Jaques frowned and the Templar with the bleeding hand. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes flicking to Cullen.

“It would appear that Templar Brock was clumsy and impaled his hand on a dagger,” Cullen said, then spotted Mathari sitting at a table, a stack of books open in front of her as she took notes. He crossed the room to her and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured.

She leaned into his side, and then her lip curled and Cullen glanced down at the dagger he still held. “How did he impale himself on  _ my _ dagger?” she asked her voice low.

“I’ll get you a new one,” Cullen said, slipping it into the sheath and out of view.

“No, I like that one, just… just clean it first.” 

“I’ll see to it before you leave today,” he promised. “How are your lessons?” 

“I know everyone just wanted me to do this as a distraction from what happened,” she said, then angled her head back to look up at Cullen, tears shining in her eyes. “But I like it, I like the learning.” 

Cullen hugged her against his side again, pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s because we love you,” he told her. “And we believe in you. You are good at this, and it’s good to have something to fill the time.” 

Mathari was quiet for a few moments and Cullen stood there, rubbing her back. “I’m going home tonight. I-” she drew in a deep breath. “It’s going to be so quiet, but I need to.” 

“If you’re not ready,” Cullen started and she shook her head.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. But, I have to.” 

Late that night, Cullen left the Chantry, he made his way through Kirkwall, and into Darktown. There was a light glowing inside the house, but Cullen didn’t knock. With his hood drawn up, his cloak pulled tight, he sat down on the front step. It was unreasonable, he knew that. He couldn’t sit outside Mathari’s house every night and watch over her. But she was still a child. Barely fifteen. The idea of her alone didn’t sit right with him. 

He could hear movement inside, the lights were doused and then the house fell silent. Still, he sat. After a short while, he heard someone coming down the alley. There was a hesitation in their movements and Cullen looked up, the burning torches were spaced far enough apart that she was cast in shadow, but he recognized Wren instantly. She leaned on her cane, and her hair was caught back in the muted brown scarf she used to wear. 

Cullen was surprised by how much that stung. He thought if she’d been able to, she would have forgone the cane he’d given her too. He realized when she didn’t move forward that with his hood up, she had no idea who was sitting on Mathari’s front porch. He pushed it back, and he swore he heard her suck in a sharp breath, despite the distance. Then she began walking again and Cullen stood so that she could sit on the step. 

Neither spoke for a long time, then Cullen reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat. “I didn’t want her to be alone,” he explained, looking down at her. Wren jerked her head in a nod, and he noticed she was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her middle, hunched and shivering slightly. _Damn her_ , he thought. She didn’t have a cloak. Wren had made it clear she didn’t want his help, but he couldn’t just leave her to shiver.

With quick movements, he pulled off his cloak and swung it around her shoulders, tugging it closed at her throat. Wren looked up, surprised and he saw the tears on her cheeks. “Wren,” her name was barely a whisper, and he reached out, wanting to draw her close, comfort her. 

But he remembered her anger. “ _ I don’t need you to take care of me.”  _ Cullen withdrew, stood and turned away. “I’ll go,” he said, and he thought, maybe, once he sorted things out with the Templars, was certain the mages would be safe, he’d see about transferring to another Circle.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, my ability to art is not the best but https://www.deviantart.com/meraad/art/Wren-833491757 <\-- an attempted visualization of Wren

“I’ll go,” Cullen said, and Wren watched him turn his back on her.  _ Let him leave, it’s for the best. We can have no future together. _

“I’m scared,” the words spilled out and he froze, but didn’t turn around. Wren sniffled, wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and then curled her fists Cullen’s cloak and drew it tighter around herself, breathed in the scent of him. Creator’s she had missed the smell of him. “It’s not a very good excuse,” she said quietly, “for why I’m such an asshole, but it’s the only one I’ve got.” 

Keeping her head lowered, she knew she was a coward, but Wren didn’t think she could get through it if she looked at him. “I was Mathari’s age when Lanasa left me. She chose to leave. She decided that I was old enough to take care of myself, and she gathered up a pendant my mother had given her and walked into the woods. For days I waited, hoping she’d come back. Because she wouldn’t just  _ leave  _ me. I couldn’t fathom it. 

“But she didn’t come back. My mother loved me and she left me. I know she didn’t want to but-” her breath hitched and she wiped at her cheeks again. “You love me. And I… what I feel for you…” There was a lump in her throat, making it hard to breathe. “I could love you and I’m just so fucking scared, Cullen. You’re a Templar, and as much as I hate the Order, you’re so… good, and I’m…” she trailed off, trying to find the words.

“You are the woman I am in love with,” Cullen told her, crouching down in front of her so that their faces were close. “I would never leave you.”

“You can’t promise that,” Wren said shaking her head. “After everything that has happened in the last few months here in Kirkwall, you know as well as I do that either one of us could be killed at any moment. Especially with how the Knight-Commander obviously feels about me.”

Cullen reached out, his hands covering hers. “I would never choose to leave you,” he said.

“What kind of future would we have, Cullen? Realistically, you know as well as I do that the Templars would never endorse our relationship, even if the current Knight-Commander were not an issue. I’m not human, I’m not Andrastian.”

“I don’t care about any of that, I  _ love  _ you.” 

He was going to break her heart, she thought. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life like this, Cullen. I care about you, I … I told you, I think I could love you. But I want more than this sneaking around, stealing a few hours from you when you’re able to slip away from your duties at the Circle.” 

“I’ll quit,” Cullen spoke so matter-of-factly that it startled her. As if he’d already considered it. “I can’t yet, not right now, I - there are things I need to take care of. Templars to oust and mages to protect. Give me a little time and I’ll leave the Templars. We can leave Kirkwall too if you’d like.”

Wren blinked. “You’d do that?” her voice was barely a whisper.

“Yes, Wren, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. The Order, what I have come to realize it is, that isn’t why I joined.” One hand lifted, cupped her cheek. 

She leaned into the touch, felt better than she had in weeks just for the touch. “It won’t be easy,” she murmured. “I’m not easy. I don’t mean to be this way. I really don’t.” 

The smile he gave her was warm. Full of love. “And somehow, I still adore you.”

“Stupid Templar,” Wren breathed, cupping his face to draw him forward. She kissed him softly and she felt the flicker of hope that they’d have an actual future together. After she drew back, Cullen shifted to sit beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders to tuck her against his side.

“Do you think Mathari would want to come if we decide to leave Kirkwall?” Cullen asked.

Tilting her head back to look up at him, Wren reached out and caught one of his hands and laced their fingers together. “We’ll have to talk to her about it. There is so much she has to learn from Jaques, but I wouldn’t leave her behind if she didn’t want to stay.” Silence fell over them, a comfortable one and Wren couldn’t quite fathom how everything had come to pass. The Knight-Captain, a person who she had loathed had become someone she didn’t want to imagine her life without.

Behind them, the door opened. “Did you two kiss and make up finally?” Mathari asked arms over her chest, tapping her foot like an impatient mother. 

Turning, Wren felt her lips curve up into a slight smile. “You planned this?”

“I know the both of you are too overprotective to let me stay here alone.” Cullen stood, helped Wren to her feet and then he caught Mathari up in a hug. Squeezed her until she made dramatic choking sounds and laughed. “Lemme go! I made tea.” Putting her back down on her feet, they all filed inside. Mathari stopped, heaved a sigh. “It’s so quiet.” Flanking her on either side, Cullen and Wren slipped an arm around her.

“We’re both here for you, no matter what you need.”

A few hours later, Wren silently closed Mathari’s bedroom door and made her way down the hall. Cullen lay half sprawled on the couch and she went to him, setting her cane down on the floor, she crawled over him and his arms wound around her as she rested her head on his chest. “I missed you,” she murmured. Cullen dragged a blanket up over her back, slid one hand into her hair while the other curved over her hip. He made a quiet sound of agreement. “Tell me what you meant about ousting Templars and protecting mages.”

“Sleep now, you’re exhausted, I’ll tell you everything in the morning.”

Wren started to protest but her argument was cut off by a wide yawn. Cullen smiled, cupped her face and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Sleep, love,” he murmured. She grumbled, but it was only a matter of moments before her body went lax against his, her breathing becoming slow and even. Cullen stared up at the ceiling, his fingers in Wren’s hair. He couldn’t quite believe that he’d told her he would leave the Templars for her. 

While he had considered it, Cullen had thought that it was only half-hearted. He wouldn’t truly leave the Templar Order that he’d worked so hard as a child for the chance to join. It wasn’t until she’d said the words and he realized that he had a choice. A future with Wren, or a lifetime in an Order that condoned the abuse of the ones they were meant to protect. It had been a simple choice and one that Cullen felt should have caused him more grief. 

Only it didn’t. 

There was only so much he could do in Kirkwall. He would see to it that those like him were the ones with the power. Then he, Wren and hopefully Mathari, would leave Kirkwall. Cullen didn’t know where they might go, his family, he thought, he’d like Wren to meet them. For the first time in longer than Cullen could remember, he was smiling as sleep tugged at him and there were no nightmares about demons or abominations. He wasn’t forced to watch his fellow Templars be slaughtered. But rather he dreamed of a house, with Wren, belly swollen with his child, while Mathari sat playing on the floor with their other children.

The scream that tore him from the dream had him bolting upright in an instant. “Mathari,” Wren said, her voice groggy as she tried to shift off him, to stand.

“Shh, I’ve got her,” Cullen said, easing Wren onto the couch and he nearly ran down the hall. “Mathari, sweetheart,” he pushed open the door and she was sitting in her bed, gasping for breath as if she’d run for miles.

She looked up and even in the dim light, he saw the tears on her cheeks and the terrified look in her eyes. “Mathari, sweetheart,” he said again and she scrambled out of bed, crossed the room and threw her arms around his shoulders. “I’ve got you, shhh,” he murmured one hand on the back of her head, the other around her waist. “You’re safe, sweetheart.” 

Cullen held her like that and then carried her back down the hall to where Wren sat up on the couch now. He settled Mathari down beside Wren, then sat on her other side and gathered them both up against him. The room was quiet for a long time before Mathari spoke. “It’s the Qunari,” she murmured. “I used to have nightmares about…” she trailed off, fingering the scar on her cheek. “Now it’s the Qunari. It grabbed Tamcen first, we had been at the market, Tam… he was being a pest. He’s always-” her voice broke. “He told me that Niko had been staring at me, and I told him he was stupid. He ran ahead and… the Qunari stepped out of an alley and grabbed him. Mamae and I just stared, it felt like hours. We didn’t understand. He was holding Tam by the throat, he was kicking and flailing and-and then we heard the screaming. From the Market.

“Mamae told me to run. She wanted me to run away. But Tam… I’d called him stupid and he..he..” 

Cullen met Wren’s eyes over the top of Mathari’s head and he held them both tighter. “I think my siblings and I called each other far worse things when we were young,” Cullen said quietly.

“But they’re still alive,” she hiccuped as she sobbed.

“The point is he loved you, and he knew you loved him too. No matter what you may have called him.”

“Would leaving Kirkwall help?” Wren asked, stroking a hand through Mathari’s long brown hair. The girl lifted her head up and frowned, looking at her, then at Cullen then back again.

“What do you mean?”

“If Cullen and I left Kirkwall, would you come with us? You don’t have to, but, I’d like you to.”

Mathari drew back, twisting on the couch so that she could look at them better. “You’re leaving Kirkwall?”

“Not just yet,” Cullen told her. “But sooner, rather than later, yes.”

“And I can come? You  _ want  _ me to come?” There were tears in her eyes.

“Of course we do.” Cullen brushed his fingers along her cheek. “If that is what you want.” 

“I don’t have anything worth staying in Kirkwall for except for you two,” she sniffed. “Are you sure you want me?”

Wren reached out, drawing Mathari back into her arms. “Yes, da’len. Yes.”

Drawing the blanket around the two of them, Cullen found Wren’s hand with one of his own and laced their fingers together. “Sleep, the both of you,” Cullen ordered gently. Only then did he let his mind wander again, back to his dream and his hopes for the future.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and smut for these trying times... and also, to make up for the impending angst...

It was raining and Wren didn’t think she had ever been so grateful for it. She sat on a short stone wall, next to a building that had a canvas awning though it wasn’t keeping her dry. The rain was coming down so hard it splashed up from the ground, from the wall Wren sat on. She was soaked to the skin. Yet still, she stayed. 

It had been nearly two months since the Qunari had rampaged through Kirkwall. The heat had all but baked the blood into the streets and the sides of the buildings. But now the rain was washing that all away into the harbor. It was a reprieve from the scorching sun and it seemed as if everyone she saw was just a little less tense, a bit more relaxed. Children splashed in puddles and the market was full to brimming with people. 

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked as he came to stand beside her, leaning against the wall she sat on.

Looking up, Wren smiled at Cullen. “Did you know that Darktown has a tendency to flood when it rains?”

His brows furrowed and Cullen shook his head. “No, I didn’t realize.” 

“It isn’t too bad, we’re used to it, but that is part of why most of the houses have front steps. It eventually drains down into the sewers, but some parts flood first.”

“Is that why you’re here? Will your house have flooded?”

Wren shook her head. “No, it’s fine.” Cullen reached out and took her hand and she looked down at their fingers entwined. The Templars were no longer watching her every move, the Knight-Commander was too busy with playing at ruling Kirkwall to care about one silly elf. “It’s almost like a clean slate,” she murmured, leaning into Cullen’s side, her head resting against his bicep. “The rain, it washes it all away. It makes it easier to keep going when you don’t have to face the bloodstains every day.” 

Cullen leaned down and kissed the crown of her head. “You’re soaked.” 

“Hmm,” Wren hummed quietly. A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up the square. A heartbeat later there was the booming rumble of thunder. “Where is Mathari?”

“Staying up at the infirmary. Jaques is teaching her how to make that tonic for infection. From what I’m told it’s not an easy thing to make.”

“Time-consuming,” Wren said. “And labor-intensive. That’s why it’s so hard to come by.” They were silent for a few moments longer, there was another bolt of lightning and crack of thunder and the rain seemed to come down even harder then. “Come home with me,” Wren said, sliding off the wall, she grabbed her cane and tilted her head back to look up at Cullen.

One of his hands came up and cupped her jaw before he leaned down and brushed his lips along hers in a tender kiss the rainwater dripped down over their faces, and she tasted it on his lips, clear and clean. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he told her, kissing her again. Wren’s heart skipped a beat in her chest. What she felt for him still scared her, and yet at the same time, it made her feel stronger. Even if she lay in bed some nights, tossing and turning as the nasty voice in the back of her head told her that she was a fool. Loving him would break her heart. Wren caught his hand in hers, kissed his palm and then slipped their fingers together again as they made their way through the rain-drenched streets of Kirkwall and into Darktown. Water rushed around their feet, and by the time they reached her door, Cullen was muttering about never being dry again. Ducking her head, she grinned as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

“Why don’t you build up the fire, I’ll go grab some towels,” she was laughing quietly, feeling lighter and more hopeful than she thought she’d ever felt. 

Padding off into the small washroom, she wrapped her hair up in a towel, then grabbed another for Cullen. Pausing, she glanced through the open door, Cullen knelt before the stove, tucking wood inside the iron belly of it. He’d taken off his boots and his feet were bare, while the rest of his clothes clung to his frame. He struck a match, there was a beat, a muttered curse and then he struck another. Wren put down the extra towel, tugged the one from her hair and then she tugged at her wet dress. The laces took more effort to loosen and it didn’t help that her fingers were half frozen. But finally, they came free, and she pulled off the dress and tossed it into the bottom of the tub where it landed with a wet splat. 

Cullen was still by the fire, though now she saw him coaxing the kindling to life. Silently, she made her way over to the bed where she grabbed the blanket he’d bought her what seemed like a lifetime ago. Cullen stood, turned and his lips parted, but no sound came out. Wren crossed over to him, to the stove. The space wasn’t large, but it was big enough for what she had in mind. Spreading out the blanket on the floor, she held a hand out to Cullen. “We really should get you out of those wet clothes.”

“Wren,” her name was a husky whisper as he took her hand and let her draw him closer. Wren curled her fingers around the bottom hem of his tunic and pushed up onto her toes to kiss him. Water dripped down her back from her wet curls causing a shiver to race up her spine. “You’re freezing,” Cullen rasped. He reached out, rested his hands on either side of her throat, angled her head up to kiss her again, then he slid his hands down over her shoulders, his thumbs skimming over either breast.

“Then you should warm me up,” Wren murmured, she tugged at his tunic though it clung to him. His hands joined hers and there was some quiet cursing as he yanked it up over his head and dropped it to the floor. A moment later Wren went to work on the simple ties of his trousers, it wasn’t easy with how cold her fingers were, the wet fabric didn’t want to give way. With her hands on his hips to brace herself, she sunk onto her knees and dragged the fabric down his thighs.

“Wren,” he said her name almost desperately and then his fingers were in her curls.

Tilting her head up, she looked at him and she remembered how many times she’d been in this position with other men. She’d never enjoyed it. Loathed the thought of having to take them into her mouth. Hated how their fingers curled in her hair, directed her exactly how they wanted her with no regard. Now as she knelt before Cullen, she wondered if he ever thought of that. He’d never judged her for her past, never made her feel guilty for the choices she’d had to make. But did he think about it? “Are you alright, love?” Concern filled his half-lidded eyes and he slid his hand from her hair to her cheek.

Angling her head into his touch her eyes slipped shut and she drew in a slow breath. They would have a future together because he loved her and Creators, she was in love with him too. Turning her head, she kissed his palm and then smiled up at him and finished tugging his breeches down so he could step out of the sodden garment. Wren let her hands glide up from his ankles, over his calves, where she felt the rasp of hair beneath her palms. Around to the backs of his knees and higher, along his thighs, then tipping her head back to watch his face, she parted her lips and took his length into her mouth. 

* * *

Cullen groaned and she felt him shudder. But he didn’t tear his gaze away from her own. The hand that had slipped back into her hair curled into a fist, but he didn’t pull, he didn’t force her. “Fuck,” he groaned quietly. “Maker, Wren-” When she wrapped one hand around the base and the other cupped his balls and gently squeezed, he whimpered. “Fuck,” he said again and this time he did tug at her hair. “Stop, Wren-” She drew back and he ran his thumb along her lower lip. “I want to be inside you when I finish.”

Together they sunk onto the blanket, the warmth from the fire only just beginning to emanate from the stove. Wren stretched out on her back and Cullen came down over her, damp skin to damp skin. He braced one elbow beside her shoulder, the fingertips of his free hand grazing from temple down along her jaw. Dropping his head down he brushed his lips against hers, softly at first and then he drew her lower lip between his own and gently bit down. Wren moaned against his mouth arched up as his hand continued down her throat and to the valley between her breasts. He felt her shiver as he skimmed over her belly, then lower still through the curls at the apex of her thighs. 

Wren let out a breathy sound, her nails biting into his back, while Cullen groaned at the slick evidence of her desire. “Maker,” he muttered against her mouth. He slipped one finger inside then another, his thumb circled her clit and he lifted his head to watch her. Wren tossed her head back, her dark copper curls spread out around her, her lips parted with a soft gasp as he stroked her. He knew her body so well now, memorized every detail, knew exactly how to please her. Any insecurity he’d felt before was gone. Ducking his head he sucked gently on the spot just below her ear, he heard her whimper and the nails that were already small points of pleasure/pain dug in harder and he groaned. “That’s it, Wren, love, come for me,” Cullen murmured against her skin, then he gently bit down her earlobe. 

Her inner walls clamped down around his fingers, Wren’s back arched and continued to circle her clit. “Gods-Cullen!” Her hips jerked and her thighs squeezed against his sides. Cullen shifted his own hips, withdrew his fingers and then he was inside her. The warm wet heat holding him as she trembled through the orgasm. He kept up his ministrations against her clit, stroking her, drawing out the pleasure until she cried out. “I can’t-” her voice broke, he felt one of her hands curl around his wrist, while her ankles were locked together at the small of his back, her hips rocking pushing him deeper inside her. 

Cullen caught her hand, laced their fingers together and kissed her collarbone. Wren’s breathing was jagged and aftershocks had her jerking against him. “Bastard,” she said raggedly, and when Cullen lifted his head he saw the faint smile on her lips. Rocking his hips, he pushed deeper, feeling drunk off her pleasure. “Fuck!” Her thighs tightened and she clung to him.

“I love you,” he murmured and Cullen heard her quiet laugh. “I want to marry you.”

Wren’s eyes fluttered open and Cullen held her gaze. “Did you just say…?”

“I want to marry you,” he repeated. “I want a future with you. A life and a home and children.”

Cullen watched the smile spread across her face, her eyes slid shut and she slid her hand up his back to the back of his neck. “Alright.” It was his turn to be stunned. He stared down at her, certain that he’d not heard her correctly. “I’ll allow it.” 

“You’ll...what?”

“You can marry me, we’ll have a house full of children and a garden, I want a garden for all my herbs and plants, and Mathari can plant a tree for her brother and mother.” After a moment she opened her eyes and looked up at him. The turquoise of her eyes reminded him of lake Calanhad. Bottomless. He hadn’t quite expected her ready agreement. After all, she’d only said she thought she could love him. 

“Do you mean that? Truly?” Cullen had released her hand and lifted it to cup her jaw. 

Wren’s lips parted, then she pressed them together before tugging his head down to kiss him. “Yes, Cullen. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“Forever,” he breathed against her lips.

“Forever,” she echoed, hitching one leg up higher. Cullen groaned and dropped his hand down to cup her bottom as he began to move. There was no slow build, it was quick and intense, his hips snapping hard against hers with each thrust while she clung to him, her nails leaving welts down his back, his sides and his biceps. “Don’t stop!” she cried, arching beneath him. “Cullen!” 

Cullen drew back, lifting Wren’s hips from the floor as he sat back on his haunches. He watched her face, making sure the new position wasn’t hurting her, and then he gripped her hips, her legs draped over his forearms and drove into her. She keened, her hands shooting down to hold onto his thighs. “Yes! Gods! Cullen! Yes!”

Their skin was no longer damp from the rain but shone with perspiration. She met his gaze and Cullen felt lost. He was hers and hers alone. Forever. Children. The tightening sensation at the base of his spine had him thrusting harder, pushing deeper. He wanted, no, he needed to fill her. To bury himself, his seed, inside her. To mark her in some way that would keep them together forever. 

Distantly, he heard her cry out his name, felt her body shudder and clench around his cock. His body reacted, his cock pulsed as he spilled into her. _I_ __l_ ove you. I love you. I love you, _ he thought the words, a mantra in his mind as he shifted his weight, moved over her, held her to him, keeping their bodies joined as he rolled them onto their sides.

“Yes,” Wren murmured, wrapping her arms around him, one leg hooked over his waist. “Yes, love me, forever,” her words were a tired whisper and Cullen realized he’d spoken out loud. One hand splayed on the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair.

“Alright,” he breathed the word and felt her smile against his throat as she pressed her face into the crook of his shoulder.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I wanted to preempt this with a warning of angst. This chapter ended up with some when it was supposed to be all fluffy. But what I mean to say, after the next chapter it gets so much worse. I know some people may not want to read sad angsty things right now, so I just wanted to give everyone a heads up! 
> 
> And on another note, I spent four days trying to draw Cullen and Wren instead of writing... [here](https://meraadwrites.tumblr.com/post/613058407357956096/little-explosions-of-hope-i-love-you-he)

_ “I love you, I want to marry you.” _ Even days later, Cullen’s words still echoed in her mind and she had agreed to it.

_ “Alright, I’ll allow it.” _ Wren laughed softly, a giddy excitement bubbled inside her. She felt a little silly, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever been as happy as she was now. Cullen loved her. They’d leave Kirkwall, they’d get married. They were going to have a future and a life together. And Mathari was coming with them.

The sound of the door opening drew her from her thoughts. Mathari laughing, her hand clasped to her mouth, tears of mirth dripping down her cheeks. “No, he didn’t!” she exclaimed, tugging off her boots as Cullen came in behind her.

“It’s true,” he insisted, a smile playing on his lips. “Seventy mages and thirty Templars, they all started applauding. Then he saluted, turned on his heel and marched out like he was in full armor.”

Mathari was cackling her delight as Cullen crossed the room to where Wren stood at the stove and slid his arms around her. She leaned into him, smiling at their amusement. She loved the both of them, so much. 

The days continued to pass much the same. Some nights Mathari stayed up at the Chantry in the infirmary, where she had her own bed, others she went back to her old house and stayed there, and some nights, she curled up in Wren’s bed and wept until she fell asleep. Cullen managed to come most nights, they usually ate dinner together. On the nights Mathari wasn’t there, he stayed and they would lay in bed, talk about their future, make plans and it was more than Wren ever thought to hope for.

One night, she sat at the table, Cullen and Mathari were talking but Wren was only half-listening, reading through the notes that Mathari had been taking from what Jaques was teaching her.

“You’re coming right?” Mathari asked.

“I… I’m not sure that’s the best idea, sweetheart,” he hedged.

Wren’s brows knit together as she tried to decipher the lines that were starting to blur together.

“Wren! Tell him he has to come!” 

Jerking her head up she looked at them. “What? Who does? What are we talking about?”

Cullen's smile was soft, while Mathari scowled. “The celebration in dark town!” she exclaimed. “For after All Souls day!”

Wren shook her head. “All Souls day already?” she asked. The weather had begun to grow cold, but she’d hardly noticed.

“He has to come!” 

Wren looked at Cullen who shook his head. “The people of Darktown aren’t particularly fond of me. I’m tolerated, because of you.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve grown on quite a few of them. Mathari’s right, you should come. All Soul’s day, it’s a time for remembrance, but Darktown celebrates after. Music and dancing and so much food.”

“Wren,” Cullen said. “They hate me. Just look at Alaros, he still charges me double for those flowers you use to make the tonic for pain.”

She just blinked at him. “You… you were serious about that? I thought you were joking? What an absolute ass! After everything! After he helped you cart off-” Wren broke off looked at Mathari and her cheeks flushed. Mathari knew about Wren killing the Templar, but she didn’t need the gory details. “You have bought so much from him, Elgar’nan.” Cullen’s hand covered Wren’s gently and squeezed.

“I don’t mind it, love.”

“You’re coming to the celebration,” Wren’s words brooked no argument and Cullen stared at her for a moment, then shrugged and looked at Mathari.

“Well, I guess I am.” 

That was how he found himself in the largest open space in Darktown a few short days later, fingers entwined with Wren’s. Makeshift tables and seating were set up everywhere and some of the tables were laden with food and drink. People were dancing to music and talking and laughing. Children dodged through the crowds, more than a few faces bearing the smudge of frosting. 

Wren tugged on his hand, and he let her lead the way to an empty bench. She sunk onto it and tipped her head back to smile up at him. “Would you get me a drink?” she asked him.

Leaning down he brushed a kiss against her lips. “Of course,” he told her and then slipped away. There were many people he recognized and even more that he didn’t. His worry that they’d be angry he, a Templar, was intruding began to fade. Those he knew waved, the ones he didn’t, ignored him. Grabbing a drink for Wren and himself, he turned and began to make his way back to her. 

An older woman had sat down beside her, and the two were laughing and Cullen found himself stopping just for a moment, simply to watch her. She’d worn her hair loose, and the curls bounced with every move of her head. He felt so lucky that she loved him. That in spite of everything they had been through over the last few years, they would spend the rest of their lives together. He wasn’t naive enough to believe everything would be perfect, that they would never fight and that they would always be happy. He knew there would be times when they fought or argued. That times might be hard on occasion. But it was worth it, he thought, just so long as he got to grow old with her.

Wren felt a little tipsy, having drunk more than a few mugs of the sweet fruit punch already. It was next to impossible to contain her happiness. The people she loved were happy. Mathari had barely stopped dancing since they’d arrived and Wren knew she’d regret it tomorrow, but she’d joined her a few times already and would again. The joy was worth the pain, she thought.

“Wren!” a small voice exclaimed and she looked, saw Ari running toward her, her parents not far behind. Ari scrambled up onto the bench and into Wren’s lap, her little arms winding around her shoulders.

“Ari, oh my sweet girl, how are you?” Wren squeezed her close then drew back, smoothing a hand over the back of her head and down her dark hair. She felt all that carefree joy evaporating as she looked at the girl. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken in with dark circles beneath. 

Madal’s smile was tight as they caught up with their daughter. “Wren, Cullen,” she inclined her head. 

Cullen was standing behind Wren, one of his hands gently resting against the back of her neck. He’d been mostly quiet as people had come to chat with Wren. “Can I get either of you something to eat or drink?” he offered. 

Madal waved her hand dismissively, but Wren caught the look on Olan’s face. “You need to eat something,” he said, his voice low. “Cullen, why don’t we get these ladies something?” Cullen’s hand squeezed and then the two men were walking away and Madal sunk down onto the bench beside her. She was pale and looked nearly as fragile as her daughter. 

“I’m glad-” Madal’s voice broke and she was silent for a long minute. “I’m glad that we were able to do this,” she said, gesturing to the celebration all around them. “After what happened with the Qunari-” she broke off again, reached out and squeezed Ari’s knee. “Ari, baby, look, there’s Mathari.”

“Can I go?” Ari asked, squirming in Wren’s lap. Madal looked as if she might object, but then she gave a little nod and forced a smile onto her face. Ari kissed Wren’s cheek, then slid off her lap, she did the same for Madal and then she was running into the crowd and Wren and Madal watched in silence for some time as Mathari took the girl’s hands in hers and they danced and spun to the music.

“I just want you to know how grateful-” Madal broke off and Wren reached out to take the other woman’s hand.

“Hush,” Wren shushed her around the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry, I-” Madal tugged her hand free and then she quickly stood and hurried away. Cullen and Olan returned a few minutes later. Resigned Olan left to look for Madal and Cullen sat down beside Wren.

“Can I do anything?” Cullen asked, reaching out to rub his hand over Wren’s back.

Shaking her head she leaned into him for a moment, then drew in a deep breath. “You could come dance with us,” she told him, pushing up to her feet.

Cullen shook his head quickly. “I don’t dance,” he said and Wren smiled down at him.

“Fine, then save my seat, I’m going to.” Then she made her way through the throng of people to where Mathari and Ari danced. Wren had taken the draft for the pain before they had left her house and she was even more grateful. The pain would come, and it would be terrible, but for this moment, it was all worth it. 

“Wren!” Ari clapped her hands and then reached for Wren. Wren took one of the girl’s hands, spun her in a careful circle, and they all swayed together to the beat of the music. Wren wasn’t sure how long they danced, the music never-ending. Ari’s movements grew a bit slower, and when she started to cough, Wren touched her head.

“Come sit with me? My back is starting to hurt some,” she said. 

“But-” Ari’s lower lip jutted out.

“Just for a bit,” Wren said. “I think Cullen can find you some juice and maybe a cookie or two.” At that, Ari’s face lit up and she let Wren lead her back to the bench. They sat and Cullen went off to fetch drink and cookies. By the time he’d returned, Ari had settled into Wren’s lap again, her head resting against her shoulder.

“Where’d momma go?” Ari asked, draining the juice from the mug.

Wren rubbed her back, held her close and blinked away the tears that kept stinging her eyes. “Her and your papa went dancing alone for a bit.” The party continued around them, Cullen and Ari talked, Ari telling him silly stories and Cullen listened as if every word she spoke was the most important thing he’d ever heard. It made her heart feel tight in her chest. 

Olan appeared a little while later, alone. “Alright, my girl,” he said. “Time to go home.”

“Don’t wanna,” Ari whined, burrowing into Wren’s chest. “Where’s momma?”

“I already took her home and put her to bed, now it’s your turn.”

“Not tired,” she mumbled around a yawn.

“Right,” Olan said with a grin. “Come on, baby,” he leaned in and hefted her into his arms, she slid her arms around his shoulders and closed her eyes.

“Wren,” Ari said. “Come visit?”

Wren looked up and met Olan’s gaze, he jerked his head in a nod and Wren reached out to trail a hand down Ari’s arm. “Of course, sweet girl, I’ll come for a visit.”

“Bring Mathari?” she asked.

“Sure thing.” Then they were alone and Cullen reached out, sliding his hand over Wren’s. “She’s going to die,” she said, the words sounding tight as she tried not to cry. “And there is nothing I can do to stop it.”

Cullen shifted closer, slid his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “She’d had years longer than anyone could have hoped for, because of you.” Wren swallowed hard and jerked her head slightly. “Want to go home?” he asked and she shook her head. “Okay.”

He held her like that while Wren composed herself forced back the tears and tried not to dwell on the future. Reach out she grabbed her mug, drained the last of the wine and then she stood up. “I’m going to dance,” she said and found Mathari again, dancing with a small group of children. 

A hand grazed Wren’s hip and she whirled around, ready to smack whoever decided they had the right to touch her. But she blinked instead and tipped her head back, a smile spreading over her lips. “You said you didn’t dance.”

“For you, I will,” Cullen said, taking one of her hands in his, while his other hand splayed over her lower back and Wren let herself get lost in the moment. 


	34. Chapter 34

It could have been hours, or it could have been years, she was exhausted by the time the celebration began to die down. “Do you want us to stay?” Cullen asked as they reached Mathari’s house and she wrinkled her nose at him.

“No, you two have been giving each other sappy looks all night.” She gave them each a quick hug. “I’ll be fine, go,” Mathari told them, then she went inside and locked the door behind her.

“Well,” Cullen said with a laugh. “We have been told.” 

Wren scowled. “I’m not sappy,” she said, but couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face as Cullen lowered his head to kiss her.

“I absolutely am.” 

Wren pushed at his chest, though it was half-hearted and she laughed as she did it. Then they continued on, Cullen matching his stride to her much slower one. Unlocking the door they went inside and she leaned against the door while Cullen, crossed to the table and sat down to unlace his boots. “I need to tell you something,” she told him and he stilled. His boot hit the floor and the thud was loud in the quiet room.

“That sounds foreboding.”

Pushing off the door, Wren crossed to him and sunk down into his lap. His arms immediately slid around her. “I’m scared,” she murmured, curling her fingers in the front of his tunic. “All of this is unfamiliar and terrifying.”

“Wren, whatever it is, you can tell me anything.”

“I realized it a while ago.” She slid one hand up to rub along his jaw. “I love you.”

The words hung in the silence and then Cullen laughed. “Maker’s breath, woman, you scared me nearly half to death.”

Wren scowled at him. “I tell you that I am in love with you and you laugh at me?!” She slapped his chest and twisted to get out of his lap, but he wouldn’t release his hold on her hips.

“No, Wren, love, that isn’t,” he was still laughing, dragging her closer. “You already said you’d marry me, I guess I just sort of figured that meant you loved me.”

“Well now I hate you, you ass!” she slapped his forearms. “Let me go, you… you stupid Templar!” He released her and she had to scramble for her cane when it slipped from where she’d rested it against the table, ruining her dramatic escape. 

Cullen’s fingers skimmed her bare knee. “I have a present for you.”

She sneered at him, looked pointedly at his crotch. “I don’t want your present.” Finally, she extricated him out of his lap and stood, arms over her chest, glaring at him. She watched him reach into his pocket and pull out something small.

“I wrote to my sister about you, to Mia. I am terrible about staying in touch with my family. But, I wanted them to know about you, about how much I love you and that I want to marry you.” Cullen lifted his hand up and between his index finger and thumb, he held a simple silver band. “I asked for their blessing, though I would marry you without it. My sister sent this to me, for you.” Wren barely felt the tears on her cheeks as she stared at Cullen, her vision going a little blurry. “My father gave this to my mother on the day they married. Mia wanted you to wear it.” 

Wren swallowed hard, her legs felt unsteady, so she just stood frozen, staring at Cullen. “Will you wear it?” he asked, his voice solemn. She couldn’t speak. Cullen had always spoken fondly of his family, of how his parents had loved each other. The idea that his siblings were willing to accept her, was unfathomable. “Wren?” He stood, closed the distance and took her hand in his, poised to slip the ring on her hand. “Will you wear it?”

“Yes,” the word was a quiet broken sound and she jerked her head in a nod. “I love you,” she whispered. 

Cullen slipped the ring onto her finger, then pulled her closer. “I love you,” he echoed and she jabbed a finger at his stomach.

“See, that is what you were supposed to say the first time I told you I loved you! Not laugh!” 

He cupped her face and smiled at her. “I already knew you loved me,” he said and she narrowed her eyes at him. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“So sure of yourself,” she groused, wrapping her arms around him. “What if I never said I loved you?”

“You agreed to marry me, Wren.”

“That is completely beside the point!” Cullen scooped her up and carried her the short distance to the bed. “Hey, did I say that I was sleeping with you tonight?”

He set her down and kissed her forehead. “You’re prickly, and you have every right to be, I shouldn’t have laughed. It just… wasn’t what I expected you to say.” He turned away from her, crossed to the corner where her work table sat and found the familiar jar on the shelf. When he turned back she was just staring at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Going to rub your back? I imagine after all that dancing…” he trailed off. “What’s wrong?” There were tears in her eyes again. He quickly crossed over and knelt in front of her. “Wren? What is it? I truly am sorry for laughing, you have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say them. You were just so serious, I’d thought… I don’t know what I thought. But I was expecting you to tell me something horrible.” 

Wren stared at Cullen, then down at the ring on her hand. It was a band of silver, gold, and bronze braided together. It was delicate and fit perfectly. Cullen had told his family about her and they had given their blessing with this ring. Wren thought of her mother, would she have approved of this? Of Cullen? She had no idea, memories of her mother were so faded with time. But she knew that Lanasa would not have. A Templar was a Templar. Evil and untrustworthy.

She had been alone for so long, with no one who truly cared about her or what she did. “Ma vhenan,” she whispered, staring into Cullen’s worried eyes. “My heart. You, that is what you are. I never imagined,” Wren swallowed hard and reached up to splay her hand over Cullen’s chest, above the steady beating heart. “I have nothing for you, no ring, not the approval of a family who loves me.” His hand covered hers. “Only my heart, and my love.”

“That is all I want, Wren.”

“It is yours. I am yours. As long as my heart beats in my chest. It’s yours. And even after.” She didn’t realize there were tears rolling down her cheeks until he reached up to brush them away. Wren cupped his face, curled her legs around his waist and pulled him closer until there was no space between them and then she kissed him. 

Much, much later, when she lay sated and naked on the bed, Cullen nudged her onto her front and then spent a long time working the salve into her back and down her legs while he told her of all the things he wanted. Of what he wanted with her. The life they would have, the children and a dog. A sturdy mabari, or three. He wanted to take her to meet his family and then they would wed. Surrounded by people who loved them.

She dozed off as Cullen stretched back out beside her and gathered her close and her dreams were blissful for a few hours. Cullen slept peacefully beside her when the pain tore her from those dreams. It was all she could do not to cry out. She lay there, silently breathing through the bolts of agony that shot up her spine and down her legs, desperate to stay quiet. She would not wake Cullen, refused to spoil what had been such a wonderful night.

Wren felt almost dizzy with the pain when Cullen stirred beside her. She didn’t move, kept her breathing even, as he kissed her bare shoulder and carefully extricated himself from the bed. She listened to him dress as quietly as he could before the bed dipped, causing her hips to move and the pain was white-hot and blinding. “Must you go?” she asked, keeping her voice soft, sleepy sounding as if she were still half asleep when his lips pressed to the crown of her head. 

“I must,” he murmured.

“Hmm, leave the door unlocked for Mathari,” she continued, burrowing her face against the pillow, so he wouldn’t kiss her face and feel the damp tears on her cheeks. “Love you,” Wren said into the pillow.

“I love you, too,” he pressed another kiss to the back of her head, and then she listened as he put on his boots and then the door closed and Wren waited for long seconds, lifted her head, just to be sure the room was empty before she pressed her hand to her mouth and the sobs she’d been holding in escaped. 

“It was worth it,” she rasped against her palm. The pain was worth such a perfect night. She needed to get up, to take a tonic. But she knew that the little purple flowers were not going to help her today. No, she had no choice but to take the one she hated to take, because it left her groggy, lethargic and more often than not, dead to the world. “You wouldn’t take it because of Morelli,” she reminded herself. “But he’s dead and there is no one that is trying to hurt you anymore.” 

The effort that it took Wren simply to roll over on the bed left her sweaty and panting for breath. Her legs felt like dead weights. Limp extremities that twitched with pulses of pain that seemed to be timed to her own quick heartbeat. 

The door opened and Wren lifted her head, Mathari was there, tugging back her head. She stopped and stared. “Wren?” The room was dark, but Wren knew she could see her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she kept her voice light. “I think today would be a good day for you to go up to Jaques.”

“Are you okay? Your back-”

Wren waved a dismissive hand. “I’m okay, just tired. I already took something. I think a day of rest in bed would be the best idea for me.” 

Mathari shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying, really.” 

Heart clenching in her chest, Wren smiled. “I know sweetheart, it’s alright though. I’m fine,” she lied. After a few more minutes of coaxing, Mathari finally left, and Wren stared up at the ceiling, trying to tell her body that she was in charge.

For the first time, Wren cursed the generosity of the men who made her this bed. Forcing herself up to sit, she dragged her legs over the edge and shifted forward, her cane was too far away and she had nothing else to brace herself on to slide down to the floor. The blanket beneath her slid and then she was falling. Hitting the floor knocked the breath for her lungs and for what felt like an eternity, Wren couldn’t seem to suck any air back in. 

She sat there for a long time, eyes closed her head resting against the bed as she took slow breaths, then she dragged herself across the room to the trunk that held the extra potions, tonics, and tinctures. Shoving open the lid, Wren sought out the one she needed. Her fingers were trembling when she pulled it free, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain, or from the memories of Morelli that were creeping in.

Before she could give herself a chance to talk herself out of using it, she uncorked the bottle and drank down the sour-sweet tonic. Then she made her way back over to the bed and stared up at it from where she sat on the floor. Too far. She was exhausted and knew there would be no getting back up there. Cursing quietly, Wren grabbed the edge of the blanket, tugged until it came free and wrapped it around herself as she curled up on her side. 

It didn’t take long for the tonic to kick in. The pain ebbed slightly, replaced by a near-complete numbness and her mind went foggy around the edges. Her head felt light as if it were drifting off like a cloud and Wren likened it to drinking far too much. She thought distantly of Andre, the man addicted to the Black Lotus. He hadn’t come around for a while and she hoped he was doing well, but as the tonic seemed to grow fingers and curl into her mind, to tug at her, she thought maybe she understood why some chose the mindless oblivion.


	35. Chapter 35

Cullen rubbed his hand over the back of his neck as he left his quarters his mind on Wren. She loved him. She’d actually said the words, and he’d laughed. He was an ass, but she’d been so serious, that hearing the words he’d already known spill from her lips had been such a relief. Cullen understood how much it meant that she’d spoken them. A part of him had truly thought he might never hear her say them. 

_ I love you. _

But she had and he had laughed. He’d buy her flowers or something to help make up for it. And he’d be sure to remind her how much he adored her. “Cullen!” he heard a shout and turned to see Mathari jogging toward him. “Wait for me!” 

Cullen stared at her, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?” he asked when she came to a stop in front of him.

“I was helping in the infirmary,” she told him.

“But why? I thought you were going to be at Wren’s today.” That was the only reason he’d left when he had. Because Mathari would be there.

“I got there and Wren told me she was going to stay in bed because her back hurt, and that I should come up here. She said she already took a tonic, and she’d be fine.” 

“That pig-headed woman,” he ground out. “Damn it.” 

“Did I- I should have stayed, shouldn’t I? I’m sorry, she said-” Cullen saw the tears fill Mathari’s eyes and he reached out, tugging her into his arms.

“No, no, sweetheart,” he said and kissed the crown of her head. “You know how damn stubborn she is. Come on, let’s go.” Worry made a heavy weight in his belly as they made turned and walked away from the Chantry, unaware of the figure watching from a window. He knew accepting help was difficult for her. He understood that, and he reminded himself not to yell at her as they reached the door. 

Unlocking it, he pushed it open and blinked into the dark room. It took a moment to register, for his eyes to focus. Wren lay on the floor near the bed, a blanket tangled around her legs. He couldn’t breathe. Fear and worry consumed him. Racing across the room he sunk to his knees. “Wren,” her name was a pleading whisper as he cupped her face. Her skin felt hot, feverish and damp with perspiration. 

_ Anders _ , Cullen thought. “Stay here,” he said to Mathari.

“I shouldn’t have left, I shouldn’t have-” she was twisting something in her hands in front of her, staring down at Wren’s prone body. Mathari held up an empty flask. Cullen recognized it immediately. One of the tonics for pain that Wren adamantly refused. 

Cullen stood, took Mathari’s face between his hands and forced her to look at him. “No, this is not your fault. I’m going to go and get Anders, I want you to stay here and keep an eye on her.” He took the flask from her hands.

Mathari’s eyes went wide. “You can’t, I’ll to get him,” she said shaking her head.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, tugging Mathari close to hug her tightly and then he drew away and hurried out the door. Cullen felt awash with emotion. Worry. Anger. He kept having to remind himself to breathe as he hurried through the dank alleys of Darktown. Anders would come, he had no reason not to, there was no grudge between him and Wren. But if there was even the slightest resistance, Cullen would drag the apostate through the streets to Wren’s house willing or not. 

The streets were surprisingly empty, though, Cullen would have had to have been an idiot not to know he was being watched. There were people, lurking in the shadows, watching as the Knight-Captain ran towards his only hope of aid. Reaching the large sliding wooden door, he banged his fist on it, hard, the sound echoing in the massive chamber. 

Silence. No sound from the other side. Cullen cursed, banged again. “Anders!” he shouted. “Open up!” Finally, he heard voices, scuffling movement. The door opened and Cullen came face to face with Hawke.

“Knight-Captain,” Hawke said, a wicked grin on his face. Cullen didn’t have the chance to react. Hawke’s fist slammed into his jaw, sending him reeling backward. He landed hard on his ass, all the breath leaving his lungs.

Anders appeared at Hawke’s shoulder, then Fenris and Cullen saw a handful of others, Varric, and a few others. “It’s Wren,” Cullen wheezed, tossing the flask up to Anders. He caught it easily, his brows knitting together.

“She took this?” He let out a low curse. “It’s cheap, but a strong pain reliever, with many side effects. Wren suffers some of the worst I’ve ever seen.” 

“Help her, please,” Cullen said, voice pleading, still on the ground, staring up at the men looming over him. “Please.” He’d beg. By the Maker, he would beg on his knees if that is what it took.

Anders turned to Hawke, nudged at his shoulder. “Go back to the game,” he said with a jerk toward the others.

“You’re not going with the Templar,” he said the word with a sneer. “Not alone.”

“Hawke,” Anders’ voice sounded amused. “I could easily kill the Templar scum with a wave of my hand, remember?”

“And if he were to silence you? Then what?”

“I give you my word,” Cullen said, slowly getting to his feet.

Hawke scoffed at that. “The word of a Templar means shit.”

“Please,” Cullen said, feeling desperate. “I’ll give you anything.”

Hawke stepped close, curled his hand in the front of Cullen’s tunic. “I want my sister back,” he said with a snarl.

“She’s fine, I saw her just yesterday.” 

“If by fine,” Hawke leaned in closer, their noses almost touching. “You mean she is alive, she’s breathing. If she were fine, she’d be home. With her family.” 

Cullen’s eyes slid shut. “You want to hit me again, Hawke? Do it, if it will make you feel better.” 

“Hawke,” Anders’ voice. “I’m not doing this for him, I’m doing it for Wren. It isn’t her fault she got attached to the Templar.” There was a long moment before Hawke released Cullen with a shove before retreating back into the large room with Fenris at the others. And then he and Anders were on their way. 

It seemed to take an eternity to reach Wren’s door, but finally, they did. Cullen pushed open the door and the room had been lit with candles and Mathari knelt beside Wren, a rag in her hand, a bowl of water at her knee as she laid the compress against Wren’s forehead. 

“Let’s see what we have,” Anders said, his voice gentle and he knew that was for Mathari’s comfort. She moved away and Anders sunk down in her place, hands glowing, his brow knitting together. Then his hands withdrew and he looked up at Cullen. “Lift her up onto the bed, I need to get a better look at her back.” He moved away, allowing Cullen into the space. Cullen knew she was naked beneath that blanket and was careful to keep it wrapped around her front as he lifted her into his arms, taking special care not to jostle her too much. Laying her down on her stomach he hesitated, stroked a lock of damp hair back from her forehead and then finally moved away to let Anders see to her.

Mathari leaned into Cullen’s side as they watched Anders work with a determined look on his face. “There is bruising, and strain in the muscles. The nerves…” he shook his head. “What happened?”

“The celebration,” Mathari spoke. “She danced with me most of the night.”

“I rubbed the salve she uses into her back last night.”

“And then what, left her alone?” Anders’s words were harsh and Cullen felt Mathari stiffen against his side.

“I did,” and he regretted it. Maker, he knew how stubborn she was, how unwilling she was to ask for help. “Because I knew Mathari would be here, but then Wren sent her away because she insists on doing everything herself.”

Anders’s gaze slid to Mathari. “This isn’t your fault,” he told her and then returned to his task. The time seemed to stretch on and on as Anders worked. When he eventually stepped back he looked at Cullen. “She’ll have to sleep off the tonic, but I’ve done what I can for the pain.” Then his gaze slid to Mathari’s. “She’ll be fine, a little groggy,” he reassured her with a soft smile. “Might feel a bit sick to her stomach, so have her eat some toast.” 

Mathari jerked her head in a nod. “I can do that,” she said.

“Why don’t you go grab one of her nightshirts,” Cullen said, kissing the top of Mathari’s head, after a slight hesitation the girl pulled away and ducked into the washroom. “She’ll really be okay?” Cullen asked, his voice low.

“If the fever doesn’t break, and she hasn’t woken by tomorrow evening, send for me.”

Cullen’s gaze drifted to where Wren lay. “I cannot thank you enough.”   
“I did not do it for you,” Anders said.

“I know, I know that, but if I can repay you in some way…”

Anders canted his head to the side. “What was it that you said to Hawke? Mages aren’t human? Interesting how things change when you need something.” 

Cullen felt his cheeks flush hot and he reached up, his palm rubbing against his jaw. He felt the scrape of stubble. “I regret it,” Cullen said. “I know, it is too little, too late. If I could return Bethany to Hawke, I would,” but that… that was too much. Perhaps, he thought. It would be his last act of rebellion toward the Templars when he left. 

Mathari stepped back into the room and Anders left. Cullen took the long, loose shirt from Mathari and carefully drew it over Wren’s head. “You should eat something,” Cullen said, glancing to where Mathari stood, arms wrapped around her middle as she looked down at Wren.

“I’m not hungry,” her voice was quiet. 

With a shake of his head, Cullen finished tucking Wren in, then he crossed to Mathari. “This. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” he said the words with steady force. “Do you hear me, Mathari? I should have stayed, I shouldn’t have left taking care of her on your shoulders. You’re still a child, and after everything you’ve been through, you deserve to hold onto that as long as you possibly can.” He gave her a gentle shake, then pulled her in and hugged her tightly. “And you’re going to sit down and eat dinner with me, whether you like it or not.” 

Hours later, Cullen sat in a chair next to the bed, Mathari lay curled up on a bed of blankets on the floor after refusing to climb into the bed beside her or go home. Elbows on his knees, he listened to the sounds of Wren’s steady breathing, and Mathari’s snores while he pressed his fingers to his jaw, feeling the pain from Hawke’s punch. It would be better once they left Kirkwall, he told himself. Wren would learn that she could rely on him, that he’d always be there for her. 

Blankets shifted and Cullen looked up, Wren’s face was contorted, her head tossed one way, then the other, a quiet sound of distress escaping her clenched jaw. Reaching out, Cullen took her hand and made little shushing noises. “It’s okay, Wren, you’re safe, I’m here, it’s okay,” he murmured quietly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Her skin felt even hotter than before. “I’m not going anywhere. Just, please, wake up, love.”


	36. Chapter 36

Wren’s head was throbbing. A painful staccato beat. Cracking open one eye slowly, she winced at the brightness and twisted her head to the side, burying it in the pillow. “There is medicine on the nightstand,” Cullen’s voice seemed so loud, a painful echo in her head.

“Shhh,” she shushed him but then extended a hand out toward him, wanting him to take it, to hold her. What had happened? Instead of his fingers curling around hers, she felt him press two small tablets into her hand before drawing away. A different kind of pain filled her. Wren drew her hand back, curled it against her chest and breathed as the night before came back to her. The celebration and dancing. She rubbed her thumb against the base of her ring finger, found the band there. 

Wren remembered waking up and the pain. She remembered taking the tonic. Slowly she forced her eyes open, wincing because that one long candle seemed to burn brighter than the sun in her small room. Cullen sat in a chair near the bed, elbows on his knees, watching her with an unreadable expression. She was afraid to try and sit up, while her back didn’t hurt at the moment, Wren knew the second she twisted her body, she would regret it.

“Anders was here,” Cullen said, seeming to read her thoughts and damn him because he always could. 

Slowly, so slowly, Wren shifted her legs, felt the pull and stiffness of not moving for a long time, but it didn’t hurt. Sitting up, she shifted up and leaned her back against the wall, before opening her hand in her lap to look down at the tablets. “You’re angry with me,” Wren said quietly and heard Cullen sigh heavily.

“No, Wren, I’m not angry. I-” he broke off, ran his hands through his hair. “I just don’t… how do I get through to you? Please, tell me what I can do, because I don’t know what else to even try at this point.”

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. “I didn’t want you to see me like that, I knew it would be bad, from the celebration, but it was worth it.”

Cullen made a quiet sound and raked his hands through his hair again. “Wren, it isn’t as if I don’t know exactly how bad your back pains you. I know how much you hate asking for help but-” he broke off, made a sound. “Do you know what it did to me to walk through that door and see you on the floor? I thought the worst, and then Mathari found the tonic bottle, you told me you couldn’t take it. And all I could think was that you were going to die, all because you’re too damn proud to ask for help.” 

The tears that had just been stinging her eyes finally overflowed and dripped down her cheeks. “Do you know what my biggest fear is?” She asked, not looking up to meet his gaze. “For a long time, it was Morelli. But then it became you.” Finally, she lifted her head, met his gaze. “I’m afraid that one day you’ll look at me and regret everything. That you’ll regret loving me.”

“Wren,” there was a softness to his voice and she shook her head.

“No, listen to me. Because,” she twisted his mother’s ring on her finger, “we’ve talked about children, having a huge family, and I want that, so badly, but I’ll never be able to carry them. If they wake screaming in the middle of the night, I can’t lean over their cradle and soothe them, I can’t lift them up into my arms and walk around the room until they calm down. I’ll never be able to let them run to me and sweep them up into my arms. If they fall, I can’t catch them. 

“I will never be able to be a proper mother. I can’t even spend an evening dancing with friends. And I was afraid that if you saw that, how bad it truly is, you’d change your mind, you’d realize that you don’t want a broken woman for a wife, for the mother of your children.” The tears rolled down her cheeks in earnest now and Cullen was so quiet. Was he trying to decide how best to tell her she was right? Tugging the ring from her finger, she extended her hand out to him and closed her eyes waiting for him to take it. 

“Idiot woman,” Cullen’s hand curled around hers, slipped the ring back onto her finger and then he shifted to perch on the edge of her bed where he cupped her face between his hands and forced her head up to meet his gaze. “You’re an idiot, Wren. I am giving up something I worked my entire childhood for. Do you believe that I’d do that and yet shun you because I’ll have to carry our children? Maker, I’ll carry them.” Leaning close he pressed his forehead to hers. “I am in love with you.”

“There will come a day when I can’t walk at all.”

“Then I will carry you as well. Wren, your ability to walk, or run, or dance, does not change what I feel for you.” Cullen smoothed his hand over the side of her head, down to rest against her throat. “I know that you’ve never had anyone you could truly rely on. I understand how difficult it is for you. One day you’ll get it through that beautiful, thick skull of yours, that I will always be there for you. I will never turn my back on you, love.”

Wren let out a shuddering breath and angled her head back as she lifted her hands to cup his face. “I love you,” she breathed. “I don’t think you realize-” she broke off frowned. There was a dark shadow along his jaw, and Wren gripped his chin, forcing him to turn his head toward the light. “What happened to you? Who hit you?”

“Hawke,” Cullen said with a shrug. “When I went to fetch Anders.”

She wanted to yell at him. What had he been thinking going to get Anders himself? “Why does Hawke hate you so much?” she asked because there was obviously so much more than just him disliking a Templar.

“Did you know Hawke has a sister?” Wren shook her head, she hadn’t known that. But she really barely had a passing acquaintance with the man. “Bethany. She’s a mage. Hawke had kept her out of the Circle for well over a year after they arrived in Kirkwall. But then he went on an expedition to the Deep Roads, leaving Bethany behind. I-” be broke off, withdrew. “I’m not that man anymore, Wren, I’m not so cruel.”

She found it hard to breathe suddenly, afraid of just what Cullen might be confessing. He hadn’t spoken of Hawke’s sister in the past tense. “Tell me,” Wren said, reaching out to catch his hand. “You’ve never judged my past, I won’t judge yours.”

Cullen let out a scoff of laughter. “You did what you needed to survive. I was a bastard who thought all mages were abominations.”

“You had your reasons, I know this, and you still have the nightmares to prove it. Now tell me of Bethany.”

He drew in a deep breath, then looked down at the hand she had around his, the hand that bore his mother’s ring. He rubbed his thumb against it. “I gathered a ridiculous number of Templars, marched through Lowtown to where the Hawke’s were staying. An Uncle or something, pounded on the door until it opened. Their mother begged. She wept and begged that we not take her baby away. Another Templar raised his hand to strike her, and I would have let him. I wouldn’t have blinked. But then Bethany appeared, shoulders back, head held high, she looked at us all with such disdain. “Well, come along then,” she ordered walking past us all and out the door.

“So Hawke has every reason to hate me, and he had every right to punch me. I’m actually surprised he held back as long as he did, and that he only hit me once.”

“I’m sorry,” Wren leaned in and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“For what?” Cullen asked, shaking his head a little as he smoothed his hand down the back of her head.

“For scaring you before. For always assuming the worst.”

“I still adore you,” Cullen told her and Wren’s heart swelled in her chest. She was impossible, she knew that, but her own fears and worries always seemed to win out over any rational thought. Because love or not, how could Cullen want someone so broken as her?

“I adore you too,” she breathed, resting her head on his shoulder. They sat like that, quiet for long minutes before there was the sound of someone shifting.

“Wren?” Mathari’s tired voice and then Wren saw the top of her head appear near the foot of the bed.

“Mathari, sweetheart, what are you doing on the floor?”

“She didn’t want to crowd you.”

“Come on,” Wren patted the spot beside her and Mathari didn’t hesitate, she climbed up onto the bed and curled up against her side.

“Are you okay? You need toast, Anders said I needed to make you toast when you woke up.” 

Wren stroked her fingers through Mathari’s hair as she settled beside her, her head pillowed on Wren’s thigh. “I’m alright, and you should sleep, Cullen can get me toast.” Cullen’s brows lifted in question and she nodded. She’d ignored the roiling in her belly, but now that her nerves had calmed, she could feel the twisting nausea. Cullen got up, went over to the oven and Wren looked down at Mathari, watched her fingers play over a loose string on the quilt that was draped over Wren’s legs.

“You’re really okay?” she asked. “I would have stayed, I should have stayed with you, I’m sorry.” Mathari’s voice hitched.

Wren made a quiet shushing sound. “You hush now, I don’t want you having to take care of me any more than I want Cullen taking care of me.”

“It’s okay to ask for help,” Mathari insisted, tilting her head to look up at Wren. “You tell me that all the time, you tell all the people who need stuff that too.”

Wren pressed her lips together. It was so hard to explain, to put into words her need to be needed. Her need to help people, while being unable to accept the same in return. “You’re still a child, I was your age when I was forced to take care of myself and I had no one to rely on. I don’t want that for you, sweetheart.”

Cullen returned to her other side a few minutes later, holding a thick piece of bread, toasted to perfection, with little bits singed nearly black around the edges. He settled on the bed beside her, his arm sliding around her shoulders. The room fell silent, save for Mathari’s quiet snoring as she fell back asleep, and Wren leaned into Cullen’s side as she nibbled the toast and made a silent vow to try harder because this was her family, and if she lost them, she knew it would break her beyond repair.


	37. Chapter 37

A soft sweet scent of flowers hung in the air, while Wren swept the dust and tiny cobwebs that had settled into the corners toward the partially open door. The air outside was cool, and Wren was eager to finish her task so she could bundle her shawl around her shoulders. Sweeping the dust out the door, she peered outside, glancing down the alley one way, then the other. Pushing shut the door, Wren leaned her back against it and closed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as she thought of the night before.

She’d been near the door, finally taking a break from her work when Cullen had come through the door. He’d taken one look at her, grabbed her up in his arms and pinned her to the door, her legs around his waist as he ravaged her mouth. Wren had been startled at first, but she’d melted into the kiss, into Cullen, and then again when tugging just enough clothing out of the way, he’d taken her against the door. 

It had been fast and intense and after, Wren’s legs were unsteady for not the usual reasons. “Sorry,” he apologized, smoothing his hands down her arms once he’d set her back on her feet. 

She laughed, curled her fingers in the front of his tunic and dragged his mouth down to his. “I’m not. But now I’m starving, let’s have supper.”

Heat pooled in her belly just from the memory of it and Wren felt her cheeks flush. Putting away the broom, she sunk down onto the chair at her work table. A knock at the door a short while later had her glancing up. “Come in,” Wren called and she watched the door open. 

Olan pushed open the door but hovered in the entryway. A knot twisted Wren’s stomach. “Ari,” Wren started to stand, her mind racing over what to bring, what else she could do, but he waved his hand.

“She’s gone,” the words were sharp, but as Wren collapsed back into the chair, she saw how red and swollen his eyes were. “Madal is with her sister, I just wanted, needed to tell you. To,” his voice broke and Wren wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him and hug him, but she stayed where she was.

“I’m so sorry,” she could barely get the words out around the lump in her throat. 

Olan stepped forward, held something out to her, but Wren’s vision had gone wavey with tears. “Ari asked that you have this.”

Though she still couldn’t quite make out the man in front of her, Wren lifted her hand, felt him lay something soft and limp in her palm. Blinking several times, she saw the tiny stitched face of the carefully crafted doll with a mass of black hair. “I can’t-” Wren’s voice broke and she shook her head. The doll was Ari’s favorite, a miniature version of her self that had been made by her grandmother. 

“She told us she wanted you to have it,” his voice was tight, and she could hear the pain in it. “Don’t argue with me, Madal told me to bring it for you.” He drew in a deep breath. “And to thank you. If it weren’t for your tonic, we’d have lost her five years ago.”

“It wasn’t long enough,” Wren whispered. “I wanted more for her.” 

“It was more than we could have ever dared hope for.” He rubbed at his eyes and Wren wiped at her own cheeks. “Ari loved you like family and I am grateful- for everything.” 

“If you or Madal need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” Olan waved away her offer, but Wren ignored him, reached for a jar on one of the little shelves and held it out. “It’s tea, helps soothe the nerves, you should both drink it.” Though Wren worried more about Madal. The woman was already wasting away, with Ari gone, she didn’t think it would get any better.

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head and then he was gone, the door snicking shut softly behind him. Wren drew in a ragged breath and looked down at the doll as tears began to stream down her face in earnest, her heart shattering as she pictured the sweet little girl who had stolen her heart the instant she’d met her. A sob broke free and she clutched the doll to her chest as she wept.

Her throat ached and she seemed unable to stop the tears when the door opened again. This time, Mathari was there, carrying a basket draped over her arm containing her purchases from the market. She set it down and crossed the room in just a few strides. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Ari,” Wren’s voice broke and Mathari’s face crumpled.

“No,” she said. “No!” this time it was a shout as she turned away, pacing the room. “It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair!” Her fingers speared into her hair and pulled at it. “She- why?!” it was a shout. “Why!? She was younger than Tamcen! It isn’t fair!” With that proclamation, she drew back her arm and slammed her fist into the door. 

Wren heard a crack and didn’t know if it was wood or bone. Leaping to her feet, she crossed to Mathari and gathered her into her arms. “I know, baby, I know,” she crooned and then Mathari was sobbing, loud violent sobs as they sunk down to the floor. 

“It isn’t fair!” she wailed.

Tears continued to roll down Wren’s cheeks as she pressed her face against Mathari’s hair and held her tightly as the other girl trembled. It was all too much. So much loss in such a short period of time. “She was sick her whole life,” Wren reminded her gently. “These last few years, they were a gift that we were lucky to have. I know it isn’t fair, sweetheart.” But she felt exactly the same.

It took a while for Mathari to calm down, for the sobbing to ease. She drew back, her face splotchy and her nose red. Wren handed her a handkerchief and smoothed a hand over her hair as Mathari wiped at her eyes and blew her nose. “I’m going to Jaques,” she said. “I… working, it helped after mamae and Tamcen, I-” her voice cracked. “Is it okay? Can I go?”

“Of course you can,” Wren stroked her fingers over her cheek. “Distractions are good, just so long as you don’t forget to come up for air.” 

“Okay,” Mathari said with a nod and helped Wren get to her feet, and then Mathari was gone and Wren was alone again. She looked at her work table, knew that she couldn’t do as Mathari was and throw herself into the work. Instead, she held the doll to her chest and crawled onto the bed. She curled up with it clutched to her and wept until sleep pulled her under.

Cullen opened the door and was surprised not to find Wren sitting at her table. It was quiet, and dark save for the lantern on the table. Peeking around the wooden screen, he saw Wren curled up on her bed and he frowned when he saw that it was obvious she’d been crying. Crossing over he perched on the edge and stroked a hand over the back of her head. “Wren,” he said her name quietly.

Her face scrunched up, then she blinked a few times and finally looked up at him. “Cullen? What?” She pushed up onto her elbow and rubbed at her face. That’s when Cullen noticed the doll and he put the pieces together.

“Where is Mathari?” he asked, knowing the girl would be just as heartbroken as Wren.

“Jaques,” she said, falling back onto the bed with a sigh. “I’ve encouraged terrible coping mechanisms,” she rubbed a hand over her face, and then picked up the doll and held it to her chest. Unlacing his boots, Cullen toed them off before stretching out beside Wren, where he then tugged her into his side. “Though I didn’t punch the door. Elgar’nan, I’m afraid she might have broken something. That arm just healed from the Qunari attack.”

“Jaques will see to it,” Cullen said, though he worried. He’d check first thing tomorrow when he returned to the Chantry. They lay there, silently for a long time before Cullen heard her sniffle and felt the dampness of her tears soaking into his tunic. He held onto her tighter and closed his eyes. “Maybe…” he trailed off, the words were sharp in his throat. “Maybe now would be a good time to leave Kirkwall.” They had always discussed it as a future point and time but without any real decision.

Wren pulled back, tilted her head up to look at him. “But you’ve still got things to do.”

Cupping her face he stroked his thumb along her damp cheek. “I do,” he agreed. But tensions were growing again, and he feared the worst. “But maybe, you and Mathari leave Kirkwall first, take a ship to Jader. Give me just a few weeks and I will follow, and then we’ll go wherever you want.” 

Wren pushed up onto her elbow and looked down at him. “I don’t like the idea of splitting up, and I’m not sure if Mathari… Jaques still has much to teach her.” 

“If she wants to stay, I’ll keep an eye on her, then we can leave together to join you in Jader. But, Wren, I know that Ari was the last person in Kirkwall truly relying on you. The others, they’ll be fine. They can get by. Anders will still be here.” He slid his hand into her hair, twining it around his fingers. “I worry, about you, about Meredith. It’s only a matter of time before something else happens, and if she were to do anything to harm you-” he broke off, the idea abhorrent to him. “I want you safe and away from Kirkwall.” 

“I still don’t like it,” Wren murmured, leaning down to splay a hand over his chest, above his heart. “But alright, we’ll go, and wait for you to join us in Jader.” 

And just like that, it was decided. Nearly two weeks of planning and preparations. Bags packed, belongings sold. Most farewells said. Cullen, Mathari, and Wren shared a final meal around the too-small table in her near baren apartment. Mathari insisted on staying in the home she grew up in for one last night and Cullen insisted on walking her. 

When he returned, Wren still sat at the table, sipping from a mug of wine, though the other dishes had been cleared. “I’ll only be a few weeks behind you,” he promised, “a month, at most.” 

She smiled up at him, just a small curve of her lips. “Reminding me isn’t going to convince me to like the idea.” 

Cullen reached out and took her mug, drank from it before setting it on the table. “I need you to be out of Kirkwall. I need to know that you’re safe and somewhere that Meredith can’t get to you.” 

“You really think she’d do something?” Wren asked, taking the hand that Cullen held out to her. “I know you do. I just… leaving you…” she stood and then drew away from him. “I have something for you. I had been going to wait, but,” she pushed back the lid on the chest, fished out a small wooden box and then held it out for Cullen.

“What is this?” he asked, smiling a little.

“Open it, find out,” she said, and Cullen could see the tension in her shoulders as she tried to feign indifference. “It isn’t much, I mean- just open it.” 

He did. Lifted the lid of the simple box and blinked. On a bed of dark velvet, there was a ring. He frowned at it, curious. It was unlike any metal he’d ever seen. There was a grain to it that suggested wood, but a shine that could only be metal.

“Ironbark,” she said. “There is an elf in the alienage, used to be Dalish, I asked her about traditions and, well, Dalish don’t exchange rings or anything, they do a ritual, and there is handfasting and, I know I’m not Dalish, I’m not really anything, I don’t belong anywhere and,”

She was babbling. The corning of Cullen’s lips twisted up into a smile, he closed the distance and cupped her jaw with one hand, and lowered his mouth to hers, cutting off her words. “You belong with me.” Lifting the box between them. “Are you going to put this on me?” he asked and Wren let out a shuddering breath before she took the ring and then his hand and slipped it onto his ring finger.

“Oh, thank the creators it fits.” 

Cullen looked at the ring, then took her left hand in his, held it so that their fingers aligned and ring touched ring. “I make this vow to you,” he spoke, his voice low, his throat thick with emotion. “Wren, from this day forward, every beat of my heart is your name. A silent vow to love you until it beats no more.”

She didn’t say anything and Cullen tucked a finger under her chin, realized she was clenching her jaw and there were tears in her eyes. Wren sucked in a breath, a sharp quiet gasp. “Just from this day forward?” she managed out. “What of the last two years?” She blinked and the tears overflowed. “Gods, I love you, you stupid Templar.” Then she pushed close to him, cupped his face and pulled his mouth down to her own.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some smut ~~before I crush all your hopes and dreams~~

Wren felt the rasp of stubble beneath her palms as she kissed Cullen. She sucked at his lower lip, heard him groan as his arms banded around her waist. How was it possible to love someone this much? She wondered, gently biting down on his lip as she let her hands slid down his neck, to the collar of his tunic. Wren smoothed her hands down his chest, felt the muscle beneath. She was caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to weep with how much she loved him. Had anyone told her just a few years ago that she’d want to spend the rest of her life with a Templar, she would have scoffed. 

One of his hands slid up her back to tangle in her hair, then he was sucking on her throat, teeth scraping and then his tongue laving over the minor hurt. His other hand fisted the fabric of her dress at the small of her back. There was a feeling of desperation in their touches, in each kiss. They would be apart for weeks, and Wren felt a need to mark him and be marked by him. Lay claim to each other. She pushed up the front of his tunic, felt smooth flesh and hair beneath as she shoved it up higher. 

Cullen broke away only long enough to yank the garment over his head, and then he was kissing Wren again, his hands gliding over her sides where they met her own, already loosening the ties that ended at either hip. She swatted his hands away with a quiet laugh. “No, you always knot up the lace- umf-” he cut off her words by instead cupping her face and kissing her, hard. For a moment, she forgot what she was doing.

“The laces, love, or I will get my dagger and cut the damn laces.” The words were spoken against her lips, then his tongue was slipping past into her mouth, to stroke against her own.

Wren let out a quiet little moan, leaning into him as she tugged at the braided silk strands that made the laces on either side of her dress. Untied, she loosened them and then broke the kiss and took a step back. The wide neck of the dress meant all she had to do was give a little shrug and then shimmy her body a bit and the dress slid down to pool at her feet, leaving her dressed in a threadbare chemise that grazed just below her knees. She curled her fingers in the fabric, inching it up to prepare to pull it over her head.

But at that moment, Cullen stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her waist to lift her from the pool of fabric, high enough against his body so that he barely had to duck his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth, through the fabric of her chemise. “Cullen!” it came out a strangled gasp, and she fisted her hands in his hair, while he let one hand slide up her thigh, pushing up the chemise enough to allow her to curl her legs around his waist. 

He sucked, teasing the now pebbled bud with his tongue and Wren felt the sensation coil straight through to her core. Her thighs squeezed around him and she clung to him. “Cullen!” she said his name again, sounding even more desperate to her own ears. Lifting his head, he met her gaze and Wren watched, her lips parting as she struggled to breathe through the lust that seemed to be fogging her brain. 

Leaning in, while keeping their eyes locked, he ever so gently scraped his teeth over her other nipple. Wren let out a quiet cry, jerked slightly and she arched, wanting more and Cullen obeyed. He wrapped his lips around her nipple and sucked. It was a strange sensation, she was familiar with the softness of his lips, the wet slide of his tongue as he laved her breasts, but the fabric between changed it, altered it, into something strangely erotic. It felt almost forbidden. 

Wren’s head fell back and she closed her eyes, her fingers in Cullen’s hair, scratching at his scalp while he teased her. She felt him moving, felt him kneel on the bed and she expected him to lay her out on her back but he didn’t release her. He continued worshipping her breasts while the hand on her thigh stroked lightly from hip to knee and back again. It was a pleasant sensation, but she needed more of him. 

Tugging on his hair, she forced him to look up at her. “I want us naked,” she demanded and laughed when Cullen released her abruptly to let her fall back on the bed. He climbed off the bed to tug at his boots and trousers and Wren looked down at the front her chemise. Her nipples were visible through the nearly transparent damp fabric, and lower still, she could see the wet spots from where the hem had been caught up between her body and Cullens’. Her thighs clenched and she drew the chemise over her head, then reached up to untie one of the small braids she’d wound with ribbon in her hair earlier that day. 

The thin piece of dark blue ribbon came free just as Cullen straightened and stepped toward the bed. “Come here,” Wren murmured, crooking a finger at him. He climbed up in front of her, knees resting on either side of one of her thighs. His erection was hard and jutting out, demanding her attention, but she ignored it for the moment. Taking his right hand in her left, palm to palm, she tried to remember the words the woman had spoken.

“You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself,” Wren spoke softly, her eyes focused on the ribbon as she draped the loop over both their hands. “But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.” Carefully slid either end through the loop. “I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night.” Then back down, twining around itself. “And the eyes into which I smile in the morning.” She frowned, focused on trying to tie the knot one-handed. When the fingers of Cullen’s free hand joined hers she looked up at him, startled as he tugged one end, while she held the other, tying the knot to bind the two ends of the ribbon together. 

When he echoed her words, tears filled her eyes. “Blood of my blood,” she continued, throat feeling tight. “Bone of my bone, I give you my body that we may be one.” Cullen’s hand tightened on hers and she lifted her free hand up to cup his face. “I give you my spirit till our life is done.” 

Once more, Cullen repeated her words and when he finished, he leaned in to brush his lips against hers in the most tender of kisses. “I love you, Wren,” he breathed the words into her mouth his grip tightening on her hand.

“Ar Lath ma vhenan. I love you, Cullen, my heart,” she murmured, and then leaned back on the bed, drawing him over her, their clasped hands rested on the mattress beside her head. Cullen’s free hand skimmed lightly down the length of her body, from her chin, down her throat, he traced the areola of each breast, then down lower, to the jut of her hip bone. Wren lifted one of her legs to wrap it around his waist, and moaned at the feel of his length, hot and hard pressing against her center. “I give you my body,” she repeated the words from the vow. “Come into me, Cullen.” 

“Wren,” he breathed her name, lifting his head to look into her eyes and then he was pushing inside her. Cullen caught hold of her other hand, laced their fingers together and pressed it to into the mattress. He withdrew his hips, pushed forward, in an inexorably slow rhythm. “We’re forever, you and I,” he told her. Then he finally slid forward that last bit.

Body and soul, she was full of him. Squeezing his hands she lifted her head to brush a kiss along his jaw. “Forever,” she breathed and he began to move, slow, rolling thrusts of his hips kept their bodies close, chest to chest, lips to lips, palm to palm. 

The world around them disappeared, their impending separation didn’t exist, they would be like this forever. Steady thrusts and sweat-slicked skin, licking kisses and sucking bites that left lasting marks. Pleasure came to her like the tide lapping at the shore, slow and gentle until it finally crested and broke. Wren cried out, back bowing, and still, Cullen rocked against her, driving into her again and again, the pleasure building higher and higher, her name became a quiet mantra, whispered against her lips as he moved faster, harder. “Wren!” he shouted her name, his body tensing against hers going still for a heartbeat, for a lifetime, then he thrust deep, hips stuttering as he came.

Cullen collapsed over her, face buried against her throat, struggling to draw in breath. Their hands were still clasped and their bodies pasted together with sweat. When he would have shifted his weight off, moved to lay beside Wren, she tightened her legs around his waist, refused to release her hold on his hands. “No, not yet,” she whispered.

“Your back,” he said, his lust fogged mind clear enough to remember.

“It’s okay, just, stay like this for a minute.” So he did, for a few minutes as heartbeats slowed and breathing evened out. Until he couldn’t stand it any longer, he refused to release her hands, and instead held them as he brought his hands down to wrap around her waist, and then he rolled onto his back, dragging Wren to lay over him, their bodies still joined.

Wren sat over him, and the erection that had been half-hard grew steadily harder as her breasts swayed, seeming fuller with the way he held her arms trapped against her lower back. She began to move, just the slightest rocking of her hips at first, but as he swelled inside her slick heat, Wren began to move with steady determination.

The night seemed to last an eternity, while also passing in the blink of an eye. Cullen held Wren to his side, his fingers tracing swirling patterns on her bare shoulder. The ribbon that had bound their clasped hands had been laid out on the nightstand, the knot still bound tight. It was early still, but Cullen knew that they’d have to dress and leave soon. Wren would have to get on that boat. 

And though he wasn’t completely settled with the idea of her leaving, he knew deep down, that if she didn’t get out of Kirkwall, something would happen to her. After a few more minutes of quietly laying there, they both slipped from the bed. Cullen filled the pot of water and put it onto the stove to boil. He lost count of how many times they had made love the night before. Each time spilling from one to the next.

Cleaned up and dressed, they stood in the center of the room, Wren’s leather satchel resting by the door along with her trunk. “Wait,” Cullen said. “There’s-take this,” he reached into his pocket and fished out the coin that he’d carried since he’d joined the Templars. “Hold onto this, my brother gave it to me when I joined the Templars, and I want you to carry it until I join you in Jader.” 

Wren curled her fist around the coin and held it to her heart. “It’s only a few weeks,” she said with a small smile. “Then we’ll be together again.”

At the docks, Mathari was already waiting for them, sitting on a stone wall, swinging her legs, but when she spotted them she jumped down and raced over to where they stood. “It’s only a few weeks,” Cullen said, gathering Mathari in a tight hug before he pulled back and carefully wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

Then he turned to Wren, gathered her close and pressed a last lingering kiss to her lips before he watched them board the ship. Cullen stayed there, as the vessel finally pulled up their ropes and slipped soundlessly from the harbor and out onto the ocean. He stood there, unmoving until the ship vanished from sight. “It was the right choice,” he told himself, trying hard to ignore the painful ache of loss in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vow Wren speaks is a chopped up version of a Scottish wedding vow


	39. Chapter 39

_Cullen_ ,

If I never set foot on a ship again, it will be too soon. We’ve arrived safely in Jader and Mathari is anxious to explore. I have to keep reminding her that we are not in Kirkwall any longer. 

I miss you and I love you,

Wren

_Wren_ ,

You’ve dashed my hopes of becoming a pirate and sailing the high seas. 

Be safe, the both of you. I’ll join you soon.

_Cullen_ ,

Mathari says she’ll join you in your life of piracy, while I shall live in a lighthouse (with our  _ twenty  _ children) and spend my days staring longingly out to sea.

p.s. She has begun naming them.

Suzume

Kaeso

Bettina

Jules

Pliny

Amia

Sorla

Ilthon

Nora

Arthur

Leonhard

She says she’ll finish the list next time

_Mathari_ ,

Jules is alright, but I draw the line at Pliny.

_Cullen_ ,

How much longer?

_Wren_ ,

I know I said only a few weeks, and I’m sorry. But matters here have grown exceedingly tense. I’m grateful that you and Mathari are far away. But I cannot leave yet. The Knight-Commander has ordered for the Right of Annulment, which would give her the power to slaughter each and every mage in the tower. Please understand.

I love you with each beat of my heart,

Cullen

Four days later, and Cullen had still not received a reply. Was Wren angry with him? She’d understand, he knew that she would. Then it was a week. Cullen wrote to her again.

_Wren_ ,

If you are angry then tell me, but please, the silence is killing me.

There was still no reply. Fear took hold of him, what if something had happened to her? Or to Mathari, but surely, one of them would have written. Maker, please let them be safe. Another week and no word. Then two. Then the tenuous threads holding Kirkwall together snapped and Cullen was embroiled in chaos and barely able to breathe, let alone think of leaving Kirkwall to go after Wren. 

Seven weeks after he last wrote to her, Cullen packed a small bag and boarded a ship for Jader. He found the inn where Wren and Mathari had been staying. “I’m looking for a woman,” he said to the short man, with eyes that seemed impossibly large behind the thick spectacles, behind the desk.

“Taverns down the way,” the man said, barely sparing him a glance.

“No,” Cullen made a quiet sound of anger in his throat. “I am looking for my wife, she was staying here. About this tall,” he held out his hand. “Very curly copper colored hair. She usually wore a blue scarf around it. Walked with a cane, and she had a girl, around sixteen with her.”

“They’re gone, been gone for a few weeks.”

“Do you-” the words lodged in his throat. Gone for weeks. Where were they? “Do you know where they might have headed?” Surely, Wren hadn’t been so angry with the delay that she’d left?

The man shook his head. “Check with Lyle down at the stables,” he said with a shrug.

Cullen did. “Have you any idea where they might have been going?” 

Lyle, tall and broad as a house, shook his head. “Dunno,” he said, running the comb along the horses flank. “They caught a ride with Joseph, he was heading for Redcliffe, dunno if they were goin’ that far.”

So Cullen found himself riding to Redcliffe, he asked everyone he met, stopped in each small village he passed but just past Rainstop, a village along Lake Calenhad, it was as if they had vanished into thin air. He backtracked but still, found nothing. Defeated, Cullen made camp, started a fire merely out of habit, and then sunk down to the ground with his head buried in his hands. They were gone. Wren and Mathari. Something must have happened to them, because surely, surely, they wouldn’t have just left.

He thought of the nights he and Wren lay in bed, the quiet plans they murmured to each other for their future together. The whispered promises of forever. He looked down at the ring he wore, the one she’d slid on his finger and then vowed to spend her life with him. She wouldn’t have just left. 

But the idea of something having happened to them? It sat in his belly like a stone. Perhaps something had happened. Perhaps he’d missed them, and they had returned to Kirkwall and were at this very moment waiting for him. 

Only when Cullen made the journey back to Kirkwall, they weren’t there.  _ They’ll write _ , he told himself. Days passed, and then weeks. Weeks turned to months. 

Months became a year.

Then another. 

They were gone.

Dead or had chosen to leave. He’d helped them leave Kirkwall and they had fled as far as they could.  _ Naive fool _ . Cullen tugged the ring off his finger as he stood on the docks. He thought of throwing it into the sea. Tossing it as hard as he could. But if they had vanished because they were dead? If they hadn’t left him by choice? No, no he couldn’t. So he tucked the ring into his pocket and returned to his duties.

Another year gone. Then just over four years after the explosion of the Chantry, the Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast arrived, and offered Cullen an escape.

Gloved hands resting on the stone wall, Cullen looked out over the snow covered mountains around Skyhold. There was safety within these walls, he thought. What happened at Haven would never happen again. It had been too similar to what he’d seen in Kirkwall, with the Qunari invasion, with the explosion of the Chantry. But never again.

The sound of a door opening had him turning his head, he began smiling even before he saw her. Hannah Trevelyan stepped through the door, tall and lithe, skin the color of honey, her features were delicate. She moved with a dancer's grace, gliding toward him, her arms sliding around his shoulders. All those things belied her strength. He’d seen her in battle, had fought beside her. Cullen reached up, brushed his knuckles along her cheek, then slid his hand into the short bob of inky black hair and kissed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did feel horrible for leaving it there, but really wanted to post it as seperate chapters. I considered posting both at the same time, but I am cruel and your suffering pleases me (I kid, I kid!)

_Cullen,_

How much longer?

Wren knew that she annoyed the couple who ran the small office where all the incoming and outgoing messages were seen to. Every day for a week she’d returned, and every day for a week, she was sent away with no new letter. 

_Cullen,_

If it is going to be longer than what we’d planned, it is alright. I am not happy about it, I miss you but, please, at least give me something to look forward to.

Yours,

Wren

The next day when she arrived at the office, she felt anxious. What if he hadn’t written again? Stepping inside, the woman pursed her lips, and Wren waited for her to send her away empty handed, but she pulled out a roll of paper and all but threw it at her. Wren took it, her face lighting up, she hurried out the door and tore open the seal.

Only the handwriting wasn’t Cullen’s familiar scrawl. 

_Miss Wren,_

_I regret to inform you-_

No. 

Wren couldn’t breathe and the words on the page suddenly seemed distorted.

_There was an altercation-_

No.

_Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford was killed._

Wren swayed, staggered, her cane the only thing keeping her upright.

No. 

_Signed_

_Jaques Gerin_

No. No. No. The word was a steady beat in her head. No. Wren blinked, looked around, saw the people going on about their lives, as if her entire world hadn’t just gone up in smoke. She began walking, off the road and through the trees.

_Killed. Dead._ The pain in her chest was so severe she thought maybe she was dying too. The trees opened up into a small clearing around a pool that a stream fed into. She collapsed onto her knees, barely feeling the rocky shore beneath her. Wren held out the letter, her eyes darting over the page again and again, but no matter how many times she read it, the words never changed.

Cullen was dead.

Opening her mouth, she screamed. She screamed until there was no air left in her lungs, until her throat ached, and still, it wasn’t enough. Wren barely felt the tears streaming down her face and she watched with a distant curiosity as a slight breeze caught the parchment from her limp fingers and tugged it up into the air, spun it around, fluttering like a butterfly before it landed in the pond.

Is this what Lanasa had felt after Wren’s mother had died? Hollow and aching at the same time. If so, Wren thought it was a wonder she hadn’t disappeared into the woods sooner. 

Mathari.

The name was a distracted thought. Mathari. She couldn’t leave her. Would not abandon her as she had been abandoned. Yet it was nearly dark by the time Wren finally managed to drag herself to her feet and make her way back to town. Inside the small room they shared, Mathari was pacing. “Where have you been?” it was a demand, but then she froze. “No,” she shook her head violently, then clamped her hands over her ears. “No! Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it!” Mathari shouted. “I don’t! I don’t!” 

Wren stepped forward, wrapped her arms around the girl, with her hunched shoulders. “No,” she repeated. “I don’t want to hear it! I can’t! Not again! No more! I can’t!” Wren held her as they sunk to the floor, held her as Mathari wailed. 

Days later they left Jader with an old man heading for Redcliffe. Mathari was distant, a vacant look in her eyes. So much loss in such a short period of time. “Perhaps, we could go to the Dales, I hear there are clans of Dalish there.” Wren suggested and her heart ached anew with Mathari’s disinterested shrug. So they parted from the man, took their meager belongings and made their way toward the Dales. Only the Frostback mountains lay between them, and Wren found herself growing more weary much quicker these days.

They camped outside of villages, and kept to themselves. One night, as a cold wind seemed to blow right through her, buried beneath their too thin blankets with Mathari curled up against her, Wren thought of her refusal to be put in an Alienage. _None of this would have happened if you’d lived in the Alienage in Kirkwall. None of it._

They never made it to the Dales.

Wren stood anxiously as she stared at the heavy wooden door in front of her. The small object dug into her palm as she tightened her hand around it. As if she could imprint it on her skin. Raising her hand, she forced herself to knock. 

The door opened and Wren blinked back the sudden tears. “Yes?” she asked. “Can I help you?”

“Are you- are you Mia Rutherford?” The words sounded strangled to her own ears.

“I am,” the woman who looked so much like Cullen said. “And you are…?”

Wren thrust out her left hand toward her. “I should have come sooner, I would have, but-” her voice cracked. Tentatively, Mia held out her hand and Wren forced her fingers to open, to release the ring she’d been clinging to. It fell into Mia’s waiting palm. “We never married. He...he… Cullen,” saying his name was like shards of glass in her throat. “He said that it belonged to your mother. It should stay in your family and I’m… I’m not.” 

“I don’t understand,” Mia said with a shake of her head. “You’re Wren? This is yours, Cullen wrote to me about you and-”

“We never married,” Wren repeated and felt a dawning sense of horror. Had Mia not heard about Cullen’s death? But it had been years. “He was killed,” she barely managed to get out.

Wren wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she had expected from Mia, but her shaking her head in outright denial and stating “no,” wasn’t quite it. “I had thought so too for a time, oh, you poor dear, I would have thought he’d at least write to you, the bastard. An acquaintance of mine wrote to me, saw him just last week. They’ve gone to Skyhold.”

It was Wren’s turn to shake her head in denial. “No, no, I… they?”

“The Inquisition. Haven was destroyed, but a ways north, they’ve found quite the fortress from what I’ve read.” Mia reached out and took Wren’s limp hand. “He’s alive and this ring is absolutely yours. I should ring his neck for letting you think otherwise.” Mia’s free hand came up to cup the side of Wren’s face, the touch gentle and so motherly that it nearly broke her.

“Skyhold?” She repeated slowly, in direct contrast to her racing mind. He was alive. Cullen was alive. Skyhold. She had to get to Skyhold. Turning away, Wren staggered, felt dizzy then turned back, looked at Mia. “Thank you,” she said and then she walked as quickly as her legs would allow her back to their small camp. “We have to go to Skyhold. We have to- '' She broke off, met Mathari’s wide eyes as she sat by the fire, stirring the pot of soup that hung over it. They’d spent the last of their coin to get to this town. "I need to go to the tavern."

Would Cullen forgive her these transgressions? Of course he would. He’d never judged her before. 

“You said before we came here that was the end of it,” Mathari’s voice was low, and Wren knew there was disapproval in it. “Why is it so important that we go to wherever the void you said?”

Wren stared at the young woman in front of her. No longer a child, she’d grown up into such a strong and talented young woman. “Cullen is in Skyhold. His sister Mia, she said she heard from an acquaintance, just last week. He is in Skyhold.”

It took well over a month for Wren to earn enough coin at the tavern in town and then procure transport to Skyhold. Once more, the last of the coin they had. “Stay here,” Wren said, as they dropped their belongings in the clearing not far from the fortress.

“I want to see him too,” Mathari snapped. “You said I’d get to meet Mia, and you didn’t let me do that either.”

“Please, Mathari, just-let me do this. We’re not going anywhere, we'll stay here now. You’ll see him soon.” But she needed to see him for herself. She’d dreamed of their reunion. Of throwing her arms around him, of how he’d hold her, kiss her. 

Making her way up the path and beneath the massive stone arch she looked around, spotted a soldier. “I’m looking for Cullen Rutherford?” she asked.

“The Commander?” the man said, then jerked his head slightly. “Up those stairs there, take a left, his office is past the second tower.” 

Of course, she thought a little bitterly, there would be stairs. Something that proved exceedingly difficult for her these days. Her breathing was labored by the time she reached the top and she had to stop, lean against the wall to steady herself before she continued on. 

Wren stepped through the tower, and she saw him through the open door. His back was to her, but she’d recognize him anywhere. He seemed taller, his spine straighter and shoulders broader. Tears filled her eyes, she opened her mouth to speak, to call out to him. But the door at the opposite side of the area opened, Cullen turned, a smile on his face.

The heart that had been hopefully stitched back together after speaking with Mia, shattered with a finality that stole the air from Wren’s lungs. The woman was beautiful. She crossed to him, wrapped her arms around him and they kissed. She drew back, smiled up at him and then her eyes caught Wren’s. “Oh,” the woman said, her cheeks turning pink, she smiled looking a little embarrassed. 

Cullen started to turn and Wren wished she could sink into the ground. Wished she could turn into dust and be carried off by a breeze. His gaze found hers and Wren was certain all the air had been sucked from the world. His gaze went hard and she turned and fled.

Only she didn’t make it far, she’d only gotten down the first few steps when she heard the heavy footsteps behind her, then he was standing in front of her, towering over her despite being on the next lowest stair. “What are you doing here.” It wasn’t a question, it was a snarled demand and it stung. 

What had she been thinking? “It was a mistake,” she breathed out.

“It has been years. You disappeared for years and _now_ you just show up. Why?” Wren had never seen Cullen so angry. "Why are you here."

“I didn’t think-” she broke off. He thought that she had just left him. Of course he wouldn’t be pleased she was here. “Mathari,” she said quietly, ducking her head to avoid the anger she saw in his eyes. “With all that is going on, I wanted her to be someplace safe. Can she stay?”

“Of course, Mathari can stay.” But unspoken were the words ‘but not you.’

Jerking her head in a slight nod. “She’s missed you,” her voice cracked. 

He was silent for long moments, but she could feel the heat rolling off him. She had been a fool. “Why?” Cullen ground out between clenched teeth. “After everything, was it all just-” he stopped, drew in a breath. “Pretty words to help you get out of Kirkwall?” 

Wren looked up, her eyes dry despite how much she hurt inside. She thought of Cullen when she’d first seen him at the top of the stairs. The way he’d looked at that woman. He loved her. He’d moved on and found someone to love. Someone who was strong, and beautiful. “Yes,” the lie slipped from her lips so easily. She’d leave. Mathari would stay and she could finally build a life for herself, no longer tied to Wren with nowhere else to go. Wren watched with a strange detachment as Cullen’s body tensed, his hands curled into fists. He wouldn’t hit her, she knew that, but this man was not the boy she’d loved. Hardened and angry and it was all her fault. 

“I want you to be gone from Skyhold by this time tomorrow,” he spat out the words, then stormed back up the stairs. Distantly, she heard a door slam. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Wren kept her emotions under control as she slowly made her way down the stairs, ignoring the pain that ricocheted up her spine and down her legs. She walked out through the gate once more and into the trees. Out of view from the guards on the huge stone wall, and still far enough that Mathari wouldn’t know she’d returned, Wren leaned against a tree, pressed her hand to her face and wept.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That confrontation between Cullen and Wren was literally where the entire idea of this whole story began, and I just realized I've been working on this story for nearly a year, and we still have a little ways to go yet... <3 <3 <3 And I just want to say thank you so much for reading <3 <3 <3

“You’re staying here at Skyhold,” Wren said as she stepped into the clearing. “Cullen is glad to have you.” Studiously, she avoided looking at Mathari as she crossed over and sat down on the other side of their small heap of belongings. They truly had so little left. A few threadbare blankets, a worn canvas, and rope for setting up shelter and a few changes of clothes each. 

“I’m staying here,” Mathari said with a frown. “What about you, what about-”

“Mama!” the little boy who had been spinning in circles several yards away with a flurry of butterflies, started running. White blonde curls bouncing with each step. He dropped to his knees, skidding the last few feet and Wren knew he’d likely finally torn through the knees of his last pair of trousers. His knees smacked against her thigh, and Wren resisted the urge to wince as he beamed up at her. “Mama!” he shouted again before scrambling into her lap.

“Jules,” she said, burying her face against the top of his head, her arms twining around him. Wren turned her face away from Mathari’s, closed her eyes and just held on to her son. 

“What about you and Jules?” Mathari asked again.

Wren shook her head just a little. “No,” she said, not wanting to explain and definitely not wanting Jules to hear.

“No?” Mathari demanded, tone incredulous. “What do you mean, no? You can’t-” she broke off, almost growled. “You _need_ me.”

“We’ll be fine,” Wren kept her voice low, trying to temper Mathari’s anger. “We’ll manage.” But it was a lie. There was no way she could manage with Jules on her own. 

Mathari stood up, began to pace. “‘Thari, don’t be mad,” Jules said, leaning forward, face screwed up. “Here,” he reached into the canvas bag, pulled out a doll and held it out. “Hold Ari-doll, she makes it better!” 

Mathari stopped pacing, carefully took the doll from Jules and looked down at it for a long time. “You didn’t even tell him, did you?” She jerked her chin slightly towards Jules and Wren found herself looking away again.

“I didn’t exactly have the chance, what with all the shouting.” Wren lifted her brows. “And I am fairly certain I’ve had my share of being shouted at for today, so if you are quite finished-”

“No!” Mathari stomped her foot. 

There was a rustling of leaves and then a woman appeared in the clearing. “Excuse me,” she said, and she looked so out of place. A pretty dress with delicate golden lace, her hair done up in an elegant chignon. “You are Wren and Mathari, yes?”

Wren’s heart began to beat wildly in her chest. This woman didn’t look like she was about to shout at them, and the only way she could know their names was because of Cullen. Maybe, just maybe he wasn’t going to send her away. Foolish hope, Wren nodded. “Yes,” she finally said and noticed the way the woman’s eyes lingered on Jules. If she knew Cullen, there was no way she could fail to recognize the boy as his. Jules had Cullen’s blonde curls and his whiskey-colored eyes. 

“Ah, good,” she smiled. “I’m Josephine Montilyet, and the Inquisitor has instructed me to show you two to your room, it isn’t much, a small apartment off the gardens, but there are two rooms and it has a little kitchen of its own.”

“The Inquisitor?” Mathari stuck her hands on her hips. “Whose that?”

“Lady Hannah Trevelyan.”

Wren pictured the woman who had slid her arms around Cullen’s shoulders. Saw once again the smile on his face, the way they had kissed. Tears stung her eyes. “Go on Mathari, this is… you’re home.” Because Cullen was here, and he’d see to Mathari’s happiness.

There was an awkward beat of silence. “It is a room for the both of you, the Inquisitor instructed me to be sure that you both knew you were welcome.”

Wren couldn’t bite back the scoff. “I’m fairly certain that Commander Cullen would not agree with that.” 

Mathari bent down, started grabbing at their belongings, tossing the heaviest bags over her shoulders. “Come on, Jules, let’s go. Grab your bag.”

Jules sprang from Wren’s lap, grabbed his bag, and Ari-doll back from Mathari and followed after her. The trio stopped at the edge of the clearing, looking back expectantly at Wren. “Just for tonight,” she said, pushing up to her feet. She grabbed the last bag, slung it across her back and tried to ignore the bolts of pain in her back as she trailed behind them.

The small apartment wasn’t much but still nice, and the garden was nicer. Wren saw the delight on Mathari and Jules’ faces as they took it in. Looking at them, taking in their excitement, she hated herself, hated the life she had given them.

Left alone in their new quarters, Mathari tossed her belongings on the bed in one of the rooms and ruffled Jules’ hair as she passed by him. Wren stood in the small living room, looking around, realizing that her old place in Kirkwall likely could fit in just the main room. She could hear Jules running up and down the hall, opening and closing drawers and cabinets. “I’m going to go find Cullen,” Mathari announced.

“Mathari, please,” Wren looked at her, feeling a strange desperation. “Don’t-”

“What? Don’t tell him we spent the last five years thinking he was dead?” she snarled the words at her and Wren closed her eyes, drew in a breath. Maybe she should have left Mathari in Kirkwall. She likely would have been happier. Maybe not so full of anger.

“He’s happy here. He’s moved on. I don’t want…” She didn’t want him to do something out of obligation. “Blame me all you want, just don’t tell him the details.” 

Mathari made a quiet sound and then stomped out the door, slamming it behind her. Wren sunk down onto the couch, perched on the edge and fought back more tears as she listened to Jules. She heard his stampeding footsteps as he ran down the hall and launched himself onto the couch beside her. 

“Are we staying here? Are we going to live here? There is a bed! A real bed!” Wren reached up and stroked her fingers through a lock of his hair.

“We’ll see, baby,” she told him, and then he was off again, this time into the kitchen. She heard a clattering of metal as he yanked what was likely a stack of pans out of a cabinet and began to drum on them and Wren didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, despite the ache in her head.

Mathari stormed through the garden. Angry and frustrated. She could barely remember a time when she hadn’t felt like that. There was a massive training yard, and so many soldiers in all types of armor sparing and standing around talking. She spotted a young man, leaning against a wall by himself and crossed to him, while he wore full armor, he didn’t seem quite so loud and intimidating as the others with his relaxed pose. “Excuse me, do you-” he turned his face, met her gaze and her words dried up in her throat. Her heart seemed to skip a beat or two and she suddenly felt like a child, awkward and unsure. He raised a brow and Mathari’s cheeks heated. “Cullen.” She barely choked out the name.

“The Commander?” The young man looked past her, eyes skimming over the people. “Over there,” he pointed. “Furry red cloak.”

Mathari turned, followed the direction of his hand and then she just stared. Cullen stood near a handful of people, holding a board in his hand as his eyes roved it. He shouted something but she didn’t hear the words. Wren had said he wasn’t happy to see her, but would he feel the same about Mathari?

“Commander!” It was a shout from the man beside her and she jumped.

Cullen turned. Then he was walking toward her, quick strides that ate up the distance. “Krem,” Cullen inclined his head, and then he opened his arms. “Mathari, sweetheart.”

She launched herself into his arms. Threw her arms around his shoulders and clung to him. The fur on his cloak tickled her cheek as she buried her face in his throat. His arms came around her, lifting her off her feet and she didn’t mind how his chest plate dug into her, because he was holding her like he used to, so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. Cullen murmured quiet, soothing words against her hair for what felt like an eternity before she finally loosened her hold and slid back to the ground. The moment her feet touched the ground, he cupped her face, looked at her. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, stroking his thumb along her scarred cheek. Too thin, he thought. “Come to the tavern with me, we’ll eat and catch up.” Then he slung his arm around her shoulders, tucked her against his side and they made their way into the tavern where they found a quiet table in a corner.

Food ordered and drinks in hand, Cullen stared across the table, trying to reconcile this woman with the girl who he’d last seen smiling and waving from a ship that took her away from him. He didn’t want to discuss Wren. “Where did you go?” he asked, reaching out to cover her hand with his own. “I looked. I searched for you. I tracked you as far as Rainstop, but I lost the trail. When I joined the Inquisition, I asked Leliana, she has people everywhere, I asked her to look. She got further than I did, but then it was like you just vanished into thin air.”

Mathari stared into her mug, her fingers curling around Cullen’s tightly. “You weren’t looking in the right places. We didn’t-” she grit her teeth. “We started for the Dales, but couldn’t get through the Frostbacks. We didn’t stay in town anywhere. Always camped outside. Wren was the only one who went into town, and when she did, it was to the taverns or the whore houses.”

Silence fell over the table, Cullen felt a miserable tightness in his chest. How had things fallen apart so completely? Their food came, and then they made sure to steer the topics away from Wren again. Away from sensitive things. Cullen told her about the Inquisition, about Skyhold. “You should speak with Adan, he may be the grouchiest man I’ve ever met, but he does wonders with potions, that is, if you’re still interested in that.”

“I am!” Mathari perked up at that. “I haven’t been able to do much with it lately,” her tone was a bit petulant. “Have you heard from Jaques? Do you know how he is doing?”

Cullen’s expression said it all. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, he passed away not long after you left. Barely a week, actually.”

Mathari shook her head, adamant. “No, but that is impossible-” because it had been weeks after they left that the letter telling of Cullen’s death had come.

“I’m sorry, I know you’ve lost so many people you cared about, but Jaques was a very old man, he went peacefully in his sleep. I was the one who went to rouse him.”

Mathari blinked. She’d never seen the letter. Wren said it had been lost. Because if Mathari had seen the letter, she would have known it wasn’t from Jaques. She knew the man’s handwriting. _Perhaps_ , she thought bitterly, _there had never been a letter._


	42. Chapter 42

Wren looked up as the door opened and Mathari came in. “Are you in for the night?” she asked, pushing up to her feet. “Jules is asleep and I need-”

“You lied to me!” Mathari whirled on her, her words a barely contained shout.

Blinking, Wren shook her head. “Mathari, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You lied,” she said between clenched teeth. “The letter. The one you lost that said Cullen was dead. You lied!” Wren didn’t understand and her heart ached.

“Mathari,” Wren said with a sigh, feeling utterly defeated. Maybe coming to Skyhold had been the mistake, Mathari only seemed even angrier with her.

“Jaques was dead. He couldn’t have written the letter. Because he died right after we left Kirkwall. You lied.” Wren felt lightheaded. A chill ran up her spine and she just stared at Mathari. “Funny, that you just happened to lose the letter. Just admit there was no letter in the first place.”

But Wren could say nothing, the air seeming to have turned to ice in her lungs. “Go,” Mathari snarled at her. “Go, spread your legs and earn your money and get the fuck out of Skyhold. No one will miss you when you’ve gone.” She stormed down the hall, glanced into Wren and Jules’ room, saw him asleep on the bed, then went into her own room and Wren knew the only reason she didn’t slam her door was because Jules was sleeping.

Well, she thought bitterly. Everything was a mess and she had no way to fix it. She reached for the scarf, the blue one with the birds that Cullen had given her all those years ago, that lay tossed over the back of the couch. One of the few things she’d held onto, but her fingers stilled. She stared at the twisted band of gold and silver that she still wore on her left hand, saw the fingers trembling, though she didn’t feel it. 

The sooner she had earned some coin, the sooner she could leave, she told herself, and turned and walked out the door. It was later, but not unreasonably. People still milled about and Wren kept her head down as she walked out the gate and into the village. She easily found the building and drew in a deep breath before she pulled open the door and went inside. 

A woman stood behind a desk and Wren thought perhaps she was mistaken. It was so unlike the Blooming Rose, or so many of the others she’d been in over the last few years. “Hello,” the woman’s voice was warm and friendly. A plump faced dwarf with a dozen or so braids falling down her back. “I’m Sofie, come over and we can get things sorted,” she patted a large book in front of her. 

“Oh, no, I’m… I was hoping… I need work,” Wren saw the woman’s eyebrows lift. “I’m experienced, I’ve done this before. Spent a few years at the Blooming Rose in Kirkwall, so it isn’t- I’m skilled,” the words spilled out in a rush. She had thought she was done with this part of her life. Wren had thought that once she found Cullen, she’d tell him, he’d forgive her and they would live happily ever after. Tears burned her eyes but she blinked, shifted her gaze to the oil lamp on the desk and stared at the flame until her eyes burned for another reason.

“Of course, come on,” Sofie patted the book again. “I have strict rules here, anyone who doesn’t abide by them is never allowed back through those doors. I’ve worked at my fair share of brothels as well.”

Wren crossed to the desk, rested her hand on it and looked at the woman, she didn’t look old enough, and Wren hoped it was just the softness of her features that made her look years younger than even Mathari.

“I don’t tolerate the soldiers, or anyone else, getting too rowdy. I know some who say the patrons aren’t allowed to leave marks, same applies here, but no hitting,” then her cheeks went a slight pink. “Well, no non-consensual hitting. I’m not one to judge if someone likes a little spanking now and then. But I don’t allow abuse. They all know that, and if they can’t follow the rules, they’re out. We’ve a bathhouse round the back, private one, with private rooms.”

“Do you have a room on the ground floor, stairs and I…” Wren trailed off, gesturing to her cane.

Sofie pursed her lips. “I do, it isn’t much, I think I’ve got a bed in there, but it’s small, not much else would fit. I could bring in a dresser if you need.”

Wren shook her head a little. “No, no that isn’t necessary. I have a place to stay right now.”

Cullen dragged himself up the stairs to Hannah’s room and found her sitting at her desk, working. She looked up, flashed him a smile. “Hi,” she said, then ducked her head back down to whatever she was reading. “Give me just a minute, I need to finish this up.” He padded across the room, sunk down onto the foot of her bed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He felt oddly numb. As if his emotions had gone into shock. Too much. Wren. Mathari. It was all a lie. She’d lied about everything. But Mathari was back. But Maker, she was so angry. She wasn’t the same girl who’d left.

A hand on his shoulder and Cullen leaned back as Hannah slid onto his lap, straddling his thighs as she slipped her fingers into his hair. “Mathari says you had Josephine give them a room to stay in.”

“I did,” Hannah said, ducking her head to kiss along his jaw.

“Why?”

“Because is fucking cold out there, Cullen. Did you really want them camping out in this weather? If you weren’t so angry, you’d have thought to do it yourself.” She lifted her head and peered down at him.

“No, I wouldn’t, because she deserves to suffer,” he said the words, but he didn’t mean them. He was hurt and confused and so angry.

Hannah sighed, tugging lightly at his hair. “You don’t mean that. Just like you didn’t mean it when you told her to be gone by tomorrow.”

“I absolutely meant that,” he countered, his hands on Hannah’s hips squeezing before slipping beneath her loose tunic. He couldn’t have Wren here. Not now. Not when he’d finally granted himself the freedom to try again. To try and love someone.

“You love her,” Hannah said softly. “It’s okay to still love her, she was your first everything.”

“Stop,” he said, and then he tumbled her onto the bed beneath him. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Sliding a hand up he cupped her jaw, held it as he kissed her, to stop her from speaking, to keep her from reminding him. Desperate to escape into her and away from the memories and the heartache. His hands were too rough as he tugged at her clothes, but she matched him, kiss for kiss and touch for touch and for a fleeting moment, as they lay skin to skin, chest to chest, bodies joined he forgot everything else.

Later, Hannah lay against his side, her head on his chest, her hand splayed over his heart. “I was an idiot,” he said into the quiet dark. Lifting her head, she turned, propping herself up on an elbow so she could look down at him. Enough moonlight seeped through the glass doors that she could see the outline of his face.

“You’re not,” she reassured him, the hand on his chest sliding up through the pale curls on his chest, to rub against his stubbled jaw. “I don’t think,” she hesitated, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. Because Hannah had followed Wren, after Cullen had stormed off in his rage, she’d watched where the woman had gone and had seen her. She’d seen the woman weeping and then she’d seen the child. The little boy, who even from a distance, Hannah could clearly tell, was Cullen’s. 

So she had gone to Josephine, asked that arrangements be made for them to have a place to stay. “Maybe there is more to it all than meets the eye,” she finally said.

“Don’t defend her,” Cullen said quietly, his eyes closed. “You can’t defend her.”

“Why not?” Hannah asked, tone light and curious.

“Because I looked into Mathari’s eyes and saw how broken she has become. Because I held her as she cried. Because Wren took her away from me.”

Hannah was quiet for a while. “She’s not a child any longer, Cullen. People change as they grow up. Surely, Wren would not have hurt her in any way, not intentionally.” He moved quickly, pinning her on her back, he towered over her, and she saw the anger in his gaze.

“Why are you defending her? Stop defending her.”

Hannah shook her head a little. “No, I won’t. You need closure, Cullen. Whatever there was between the two of you, it isn’t over. You love-”

“Be. Quiet,” he said the words through gritted teeth and then he released her, threw himself onto the bed beside her and turned away.

Hannah rolled over, smoothed her palm down his back and over his side as she leaned in to press her lips to the nape of his neck, to his shoulder before she rested her chin against it as she pressed her body against the length of his back. “I love you, Cullen.” She knew she was a fool for it. The selfish part of her wanted to send Wren away. Give her whatever it was she wanted just so she’d leave. But Hannah guessed what Wren really wanted, was Cullen. And here she was, trying to get the man she’d fallen head over heels in love with to forgive the woman who had vanished from his life and broken his heart. 

It was late by the time Wren took advantage of the private bathhouse and washed up. She made her way back through the garden and into the apartment that sat dark and silent. Padding down the hall to the room she and Jules were sharing, she saw the bed empty and glanced across the hall to find him tucked up against Mathari, both sleeping peacefully. “I love you both, so much,” the word was barely a whisper and she blinked back the tears. Mathari wouldn’t forgive her for this. Wren had no proof that she’d ever gotten that letter. “We never should have left Kirkwall.” The last few years had been the worst. Mathari had been despondent when Wren had told her about Cullen. It took months to get any sort of reaction from her. And then they had managed, two years, she thought. And then one day, Wren suddenly couldn’t do anything right and all Mathari did was shout at her. 

Wren twisted the ring on her finger and she knew she had to return it to Cullen. Making her way back across the hall to her own room, she pulled out the small leather pouch and dumped the coin she’d earned into her hand. How long could she avoid Cullen? How long until he realized she was staying inside the walls of Skyhold? 

“Mama,” Julian stood in the doorway, Ari-doll in one hand, the other drowsily rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing awake, my baby?”

“Thirsty,” he said smacking his lips and Wren smiled, despite herself.

“Alright, come get into bed and I’ll get you some water.” He clambered onto the bed, sprawled out and Wren went into the kitchen, found a small mug and filled it with water from the pump at the sink. Back in the bedroom, Jules drank the water greedily, then flopped back down, eyes closed, doll tucked under his chin. Wren stripped down to her shift and slid in beside him. Immediately he curled up against her, his head tucked beneath her chin. “Love you,” he mumbled.

“I love you, my baby, so very much.”

“Love you more.” Wren closed her eyes against the silent tears.


	43. Chapter 43

Wren managed to avoid Cullen for the next three days. Mathari refused to speak with her. But that was of little consequence because Mathari spent most of the day out with Cullen. And when she would return in the evenings, she offered the usual sneer as Wren left for the brothel. Knowing she couldn’t avoid it any longer, Wren made the arduous journey up the stairs and came to a stop outside Cullen’s office. The door was closed and she stood in front of it, taking a long minute to steady her breathing and her pounding heart, which try as she might, she couldn't pretend was entirely from the trip up the stairs.

Drawing in a breath and before she could turn around and flee, Wren knocked on the door. “What is it?” came the barked reply and she just stood there. Unable to bring herself to speak, or open the door. “What?” he shouted as the door flew open. Cullen towered over her, and she swore he was even taller than before, or perhaps, she was smaller. “What do you want?” he asked and there was no kindness in his voice.

She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, took a step back and tried again. “I need to speak with you, to tell you something.”

“You plan to tell me why you lied to me and left me? I couldn’t decide for the longest time what I hoped for most. That you hadn’t left me, and that you and Mathari had been killed, or that you were both alive, living happily somewhere far, far away.” 

“I imagine you finally decided on the former.” She took another step back, he was too close, too tall and too imposing. “Please, Cullen.” Then Wren turned and began walking away, hoping that he would follow and she wouldn't have to do this again. After a moment she heard the heavy clomp of boots as he caught up with her.

“You want to talk, then talk,” he ordered, but she kept her mouth shut as they walked. “I didn’t,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “Hope that you were dead. I feared it. Because I thought-” he scoffed. “Because I was a fool and I thought you loved me.” 

Wren came to a stop as the reached the area that overlooked the gardens. She glanced down, spotted Mathari’s long brown hair, but she didn’t see Jules, though she knew he was there.

“Damn it, Wren, you said you wanted to tell me something, what is it?”

She opened her mouth, ready to confess it all. To tell him about the letter, to explain why she’d run away. But then she thought of the Inquisitor Hannah Trevelyan. They were a good fit. Warrior and warrior. She was a noble. She was human. Strong. “I met your sister, Mia,” that was not at all what she’d intended to say. 

“What?” Cullen’s voice was surprised. “Why? Where? When?”

“A little over a month ago.” Looking down at her hands, Wren tugged the ring from her finger. “I wanted to return this,” she said, setting it on the wall in front of Cullen. She watched from the corner of her eye as he stood still for a moment, and then slowly covered it with a large gloved hand. “I didn’t know where you were, I thought it should remain in your family.”

He was silent for long moments and Wren was holding her breath. She caught a glimpse of curly blonde hair in the bushes down in the garden. _Hide and seek_ , she thought. Jules always liked that game. “I’d return yours but I threw it off the docks when I left Kirkwall.” It was a wonder she didn’t react to that as Cullen’s voice yanked her from her thoughts.

“No matter,” she waved a hand dismissively as if he weren’t stomping all over her already broken heart. “It was a cheap token.” That was an outright lie, but it kept up the facade. The pretense that she did not care about him at all.

“Where is the coin I gave you?” he asked and she saw that blonde head peeking out from where he crouched hidden from Mathari, though Wren knew the woman well enough that she knew exactly where Jules was. “Or did you spend it when money got tight?”

“No, of course not, that was never necessary, I always earned plenty of coin from whoring myself out.” It was a jab at herself, to remind them both of who she really was. Cullen flinched beside her, and then Jules looked up, his smile beaming as he spotted her.

“Mama!” he shouted and waved. Wren blew him a kiss even as tears filled her eyes. Mathari took the distraction and snuck up behind Jules, catching him around the waist and tickling him as he shrieked with laughter.

“He has your coin,” she said very quietly. Wren turned her head just slightly to peer at Cullen from the corner of her eye. He was staring down into the garden. Mathari waved, and she knew it wasn’t meant for her. Cullen lifted a hand, waved back, though Wren didn’t think he was even breathing, let alone comprehending what he was doing.

“You had a child,” the words finally came after an eternity.

“I had your child,” she corrected. “I-” _was so relieved when I realized I was pregnant. I don’t care that I was bed-bound for months or that I nearly bled out during the labor. He is my reason for breathing._ “I have not told him about you, not specifically. I would understand if you want nothing to do with him. I only ask that you are kind.” It hadn't occurred to her that he might not believe her. That he'd claim he was some other man's bastard. 

She heard him suck in a harsh breath. “What kind of person do you think I am? To think I would be so cruel. He’s a _child_ ,” Cullen snarled at her and slowly she turned her face to look at him. To meet his gaze and hold it.

“I don’t know who you are anymore. Other than you’re not the same man I knew in Kirkwall.”

“Do you know why I’m not the same man? Because the woman I thought loved me, the woman I had planned to spend the rest of my life with, vanished without a word.”

It was Wren’s turn to flinch, she looked away, looked down at the two playing near the gazebo. “I’m sure that Mathari would be more than happy to introduce the two of you.” Then she stepped away from the wall and walked away. In the opposite direction of the stairs that led down into the garden.

As Wren stepped out into the training yard, she glanced around, feeling lost and bereft. Her left hand felt odd without the ring there. “Ah, my lady,” she heard a familiar brogue and turned her head, pasting a smile on her face.

“Rylen,” she said, inclining her head.

“Where are you heading to, Lass?”

Her cheeks flamed. “Ah, out into the village,” she said. “And aren’t I a bit old to be called lass? I am a fair number of years older than you are.”

“Oh, not so many,” he grinned and offered his arm. “I have some business of my own to attend to, walk with me?” Wren slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and they began walking down the path toward the gate. “I know it’s none of my business, but you seem…” Wren glanced at him, saw his brow pinch together. “Not sad, per se, but out of sorts? Is everything alright?”

No, Wren thought. Nothing was alright. Her entire life was a carriage, careening down a hill, utterly out of control. “It is fine,” she reassured him. “Thank you for asking.” As they reached the brothel, they stopped. “Are you…” she trailed off, glancing toward the door. _Elgar’nan_ , it was awkward to run into a customer outside the walls familiar walls where everyone knew the rules. Wren amended the thought immediately, it was awkward, only when the other person was someone who was kind.

“No,” he grinned at her. “Sadly, I do have Inquisition business to see to. But,” he hesitated. “Will you be around this evening?”

Usually, she worked nights, but if Mathari had spent the day with Jules, the girl would probably want a break. Though if Cullen had gone down there- she broke off the thought with a shake of her head. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, perhaps I will see you later tonight, and if not, then another time.” He took her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles and then he turned and continued down the road. Wren slipped inside, blinking at the dim lighting. She waved to Sofie and made her way over to a chair in the corner. She wasn’t feeling particularly flirtatious, pasting on the face of her working self seemed an incredible task. There was a man sitting on a couch, a woman on either side of him, stroking his chest, murmuring seductive words. She looked away. 

She didn’t want to be there. Coming to Skyhold had been a mistake. But, then again, she’d seen Mathari smile for someone other than Jules and Wren couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that. Elbow on the arm of the chair, she rubbed her forehead. She was exhausted. A soul-deep kind of exhaustion.

Someone cleared their throat, jerking her out of her reverie and Wren looked up to the man standing beside her chair. “Uhm,” he started, twisting his hands in front of him. “My lady,” his voice was deep, a low gravely tone. Looking up at him, she wondered if perhaps his was his first time in a brothel. Maybe he’d been married, maybe he _was_ married.

“Wren,” she said, offering a smile that came easier than she'd anticipated given her mood and held out a hand to him. He took it and she felt the scrape of callouses against her fingers. “First time?” she ventured and he chuckled low, his cheeks turning a little pink.

“No,” he said it with a laugh, then shook his head. “Definitely no, it’s only…” he squeezed her hand lightly. “Been off on my own for a long time. I think I’ve forgotten how to be polite company. Blackwall, names Blackwall.”

Curling her fingers around his, while using her other hand to reach out and curl around her cane, Wren pushed up to her feet. “Well, I’m fairly certain I’m not polite company.” He was grinning at her, but then his eyes trailed to her cane and she saw his brows furrow. “It isn’t an issue, I promise, but if you would rather someone else-”

“No,” Blackwall tightened his hold on her hand. “Maker’s balls, no. If you say it’s not an issue, I’ll take your word.” He offered her his arm and for the second time that day, Wren felt a little flustered at the kindness of strange men. “Lead the way, my lady.”

Cullen wasn’t sure how long he stood staring down into the garden after Wren walked away. 

_She had his child_.

The idea made him even angrier. That she had vanished with _his child_. **He** had a child.

Cullen looked at the ring that still lay on the stone wall and frowned at it. If Wren cared as little as she seemed, why keep the ring? Why not sell it? Why make the trek here? Mia lived practically on the other side of Thedas. Unless, that was a lie, one he could easily find the answer to. In fact, hadn’t she written recently? He remembered seeing a letter from her but wasn’t sure what he’d done with it, so distracted by word that Hannah had fought a dragon.

Picking up the ring he slipped it into his pocket and made his way to the stairs. Mathari sat on the grass, the little boy running toward her, only to dart away shrieking when she’d make a grab for him. Those blonde curls. Maker. Cullen’s throat felt tight. His child. The boy threw his arms around Mathari’s neck, tumbling her back into the grass. “Jules!” she cried, laughing as she held him and suddenly his vision was blurry. _Jules_. Had she known? When she’d written that letter claiming Mathari was naming their twenty children, had she known? Mathari sat up, the boy, Jules, sprawled across her lap as she tickled under his chin, his belly, his sides.

He was happy, it was so clear. This little boy was loved dearly, by both Mathari and Wren and happy. So happy. “Hey, Cullen,” Mathari said, spotting him as he stood, seemingly frozen.

“Hey,” the word came out strained.

“‘Thari,” the boy said, lifting his head. “Again!” he grabbed her hand and brought it up under his chin.

Mathari smiled, tickled him as requested until he squirmed and seemed to notice Cullen too. “Jules, this is Cullen,” she said, dragging him upright to sit in her lap. “Cullen, Jules. Julian, but, we call him Jules.” 

Cullen felt a bit dizzy. He sunk down in front of Mathari. “Jules,” he echoed. “It … is a pleasure to meet you.” He felt foolish but held out his hand. Mathari poked the boy in the side, he laughed and she jerked her chin toward Cullen’s hand. The boy stood up, grabbed Cullen’s hand and shook it before drawing away, smacking Mathari’s shoulder shrieking ‘you’re it’ and running away to hide behind a bush.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤❤❤❤  
> I have to say, reading your comments and discussions on the last chapter brought some much needed joy to my week! Thank you, thank you and I love you!

Hannah stretched her arms up over her head as she made her way up the stairs to her quarters. She was already tugging at the buttons on the front of her shirt when she realized someone was sitting on the couch near the stairs. Embarrassment momentarily flooded her cheeks, until she realized it was Cullen. “Hi,” she said, ducking her head down to kiss his cheek as she continued with the buttons. She tugged the shirt off, leaving her in the thin chemise. Then she leaned against the side of the bed as she started on her laces. “Have you been up here long?” she asked.

He didn’t say anything and Hannah frowned, looking over at him. He was watching her, but his mind seemed to be someplace else. “Cullen?” She stood, boots halfway unlaced. “What’s wrong?”

“I spent the day with my son,” he said, then he blinked several times and finally his eyes focused. “I have a son. His name is Jules.”

Hannah had wondered how long it would take Wren to tell him. If she would tell him. She wanted so badly to hate the other woman, but with everything Cullen had told her, she found she couldn’t. “Jules?” she echoed crossing to sit down beside him. “Did you…" Her teeth sunk into her lip. "You met him?”

Cullen nodded. “He just turned four. He’s… Maker, he’s this bundle of energy. Darting here and there non-stop.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and then dropped his head into his hands, his fingers raking through his hair. “Four. He’s four years old. I missed four years of his life.” He stood up abruptly, paced away and then back. “I want to hate her. I _do_ hate her.” Hannah pursed her lips, wondering who exactly he was trying to convince her, or himself. 

He knelt down in front of her, and she spread her legs, letting him curl his arms around her waist. Hannah lifted her hands to his shoulders, then slid her hands up into his hair. “Did the two of you talk?” she asked and he scoffed.

“She won’t tell me why. Why all the lies.” He shook his head and dropped his head to her shoulder. “She gave me back my mother’s ring.” He was silent for several minutes. “I told her I threw the one she gave me off the docks.”

Hannah rubbed her cheek against his temple. “But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to hurt her,” he admitted, and she heard the shame in his voice as he drew back, sitting on his haunches.

“Oh, Cullen,” Hannah whispered, reaching out to touch his face. _End this now_ , she thought. _He’s going to break your heart and it is only going to hurt more the longer this drags on._ But maybe, maybe they wouldn’t work things out. Maybe they would settle things and Cullen would choose her, and _not_ the woman he had planned a future with. Hannah didn’t have it in her to end it. She caught his hand and tugged. “Sit with me, tell me about Jules.” He sat back on the couch, tugged her into his side and she draped her legs over his thighs and rested her head on his chest as he recounted his afternoon spent with his son. 

Wren lay on the bed, her body slightly twisted, her shoulders were flat against the mattress while her hips were twisted sideways, and Blackwall, by all the mighty Gods, Blackwall straddled one thigh, while her other lay draped over his. “I feel like,” she managed between panted breaths. “I should be the one who paid you.” His low chuckle felt like a rumble inside her. She was a mess. Her thighs were slick both with her own need and his release. “You think I’m kidding,” she scoffed and he finally shifted, collapsing onto the bed beside her. 

She felt filthy, and not in the skin-crawling-I-need-a-bath way. “You’re depraved,” Wren turned her head to look at his profile, he was grinning. “Honestly, how long has it been since you’ve had company other than your own fist?”

Another deep chuckle. “Far too long.” She felt the brush of his knuckles against her hip. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.

Words were suddenly difficult, and she just shook her head. These men here at Skyhold, they were so unlike any she’d been with before. Polar opposites of the Templars in Kirkwall, who delighted in causing her pain. Wren felt wrung out, pleasured and when had it stopped feeling like a business transaction? When the big man had buried his face between her thighs until she’d keened. 

Then with care, he’d nudged her onto her side, asked if she was alright, and then driven every single thought from her mind. 

“You’re sure?” he asked, pushing up onto one elbow to look down at her. 

“No, I’m fine, I promise,” she managed to get the words out and blinked a few times to ward off the tears that stung the backs of her eyes. Sucking in a quick breath, she sat up, glanced around. “Oh, Elgar’nan, what time is it?” She thought of Cullen, of Mathari and Jules. Had everything gone alright? Had Cullen gone down to meet Jules? Were Cullen and Mathari conspiring at this very moment how to get rid of her?

“Ah, I’m not sure,” she heard Blackwall say, then the bed shifted, she heard a rustling of fabric, she looked for her own dress but couldn’t see it. “Here,” he set her shift and dress down beside her on the bed. By the time Wren finished tugging on her clothes, Blackwall was fully dressed, looking down at her and she felt unsure suddenly. _Thank you, come again,_ didn’t seem particularly appropriate. “I’d-” he reached up, rubbed his hand over his mouth and along his beard. Wren’s cheeks flushed at the remembered sensation of that coarse hair scraping against her most sensitive places. “I’d like to see you again if you’re amenable.”

Wren grabbed her cane and pushed up to her feet. “I am,” she told him. “Though usually, I’m here in the evenings, after supper.”

“Well,” Blackwall reached out and brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “I’m glad I caught you when I did.” He leaned down, brushed the corner of her mouth with an almost chaste kiss. “My lady.” Then he was gone, walking out the door leaving her alone. Her heart gave a little flutter in her chest and she sunk down heavily back onto the bed. That was the role she’d have to play with him, she realized. The besotted love fool. Tears filled her eyes and she pressed her face into her hands. It had never been a common role she’d played. The Templars had liked her to play the role of the submissive mage, begging not to be punished. While a few others had called her their little girl and made her call them daddy. But most had been indifferent. Something to be used.

The only person she’d been the starry-eyed besotted love fool for, had been Cullen, and it had been real. 

When Wren arrived back at the apartment there was a light on down the hall and she followed it. Mathari sat on the bed, her back against the wall, Jules was tucked up against her side and she was reading him a book. Wren leaned against the doorframe and watched. Fleeting thoughts she couldn’t dwell on raced through her mind. All swirling around these people who she loved so dearly.

“Alright, bedtime,” Mathari announced, closing the book to Jules’ sleepy protest. She got up, tugged the blanket up to his chin and kissed his forehead. “Love you, bug,” she murmured.

“Love you ‘Thari.” 

Mathari straightened and looked at Wren, a slight curl to her lip as she crossed to the door, Wren didn’t move and Mathari pushed past her, her shoulder hitting Wren’s none too gently. If not for the wall, Wren may have lost her balance altogether. Mathari stormed across the hall and shut her door hard. Sighing, Wren went over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Sleep well, my baby.” 

“Mama?” Jules looked up at her, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Yeah, baby?”

“‘Thari said Cullen is my da’. Is he my da’?” His brows were furrowed and the look on his face was so familiar. It broke her heart how much he looked like Cullen.

“Did you meet him today?” Jules nodded. “What did you do?”

“We played. Chase and hide and seek and he told me this was his,” Jules reached into the front of his tunic, tugging out the coin that Wren had fashioned into a necklace for him to wear.

“Did you have fun?”

“Uh-huh, but he’s terrible at hide and seek,” he pronounced as if it were the worst of crimes. Wren smiled.

“Would you like to spend more time with him?” her words were tentative. She couldn’t make any promises, she didn’t know how Cullen felt, or if Cullen even wanted anything to do with him. Spending one afternoon with the boy wasn’t a declaration.

Jules’ face lit up. “Can I?”

Wren brushed a hand through his tangle of curls. “We’ll see, Cullen is a very busy man. He has a very important job to do, but I will ask him, alright? Now, get some sleep.” She leaned down and kissed his temple then dousing the light she made her way back down the hallway and sunk onto the couch. 

A few minutes later Mathari walked down the hall and headed for the door. “I’m going to assume you are done whoring yourself out for the night.”

“Mathari,” Wren said sharply. “Do you think I actually enjoy any of this? That I’d rather spend my time out there than here with Jules and you?”

Mathari snorted. “Do you think Cullen will ever forgive you for _any_ of this?”

“No,” Wren said sadly, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t. Why are you so angry with me? What did I do?” It came out a desperate plea. Wren had asked many times before and never gotten a proper answer. 

“What did you do?” Mathari’s laugh was low and bitter. “What did you do? You took me away from the one person I had left in this world who loved me. You dragged me from one ass end of Thedas to the other and ruined my life.”

Wren was shaking her head. “ **I** love you,” she said emphatically. “Everything I did was for-”

“Fuck you,” Mathari snarled and stormed out the door. 

Mathari stomped through the garden, she felt like her blood was buzzing in her veins. She felt too hot and tears were burning her eyes. “I hate her. I hate her. I hate her,” she muttered over and over as she headed for the tavern. It was all too late. Everything was ruined. _She_ was ruined. She’d drink. She’d drink and drink and drink until she forgot everything else. She'd never drunk before and prayed it brought her oblivion. Wrenching open the door, she looked around, hoping for an empty table, but instead, her eyes landed on a man lounging in the back of the bar.

No, not a man. _Qunari_. Mathari jerked, stumbled backward and the dinner she’d eaten with Jules just a few hours earlier twisted violently in her stomach and she ran around the side of the bar, braced her hand against the wall and heaved into the bushes. When there was nothing left to purge, she leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down it, drawing her knees up to her chest. _Qunari_. A qunari was in Skyhold. Did Cullen know? Elgar’nan. If she could find Cullen… she had to get up and find Cullen.

“Hey, are you alright?” Mathari jerked her head up and blinked several times as the man crouched before he came into focus. _Krem_ , she thought.

“Cullen,” she choked out the word and she felt ridiculous. Isn’t that exactly what she’d done the last time she’d met him? “I need Cullen.”

“Okay,” his voice was gentle and he laid a warm hand over her own. “You’re shaking, are you hurt? We can go find Cullen, but, did someone hurt you?”

Mathari jerked her head no and tried to take in a steady breath. “Q-q-qunari.” Why was it that she couldn’t seem to form complete sentences anymore?

“Qunari?” he echoed with a frown. “In the bar? That’s just The Iron Bull.”

“They’re dangerous. They’re killers. I-” her eyes went wide. “I killed one.” Mathari pressed her fingers to her lips and stared at Krem. “Oh, Gods. In Kirkwall, they slaughtered… Gods the blood. There was so much blood and I was covered in it and,” and now the story she'd never fully told anyone seemed to pour from her mouth. “He grabbed Tamcen and he shook him like he was a rag doll. He was so little compared to the qunari. I wasn’t fast enough. Mamae told me to run but I couldn’t just leave him. He was my brother And I tried and he threw Tamcen and then he grabbed me by the arm and I heard it snap and then Mamae, she tried, but he swatted at her like she was a fly.” Mathari tried pressing her hand to her mouth again, but she couldn’t stop talking. Oh, Gods, she wanted to stop talking. “I jumped on his back and the dagger, Cullen gave me that dagger and I stabbed and I stabbed and he fell and I tried to carry them. I tried to get them to Wren but I couldn’t and then Cullen, Cullen came and Cullen made everything okay. He kept me safe.” She was sobbing now and was beyond embarrassment. Distantly she heard the man in front of her call something out, then his hand was on the back of her head, a barely-there pressure, as he murmured soothing words.

Cullen had been annoyed when the scout had come knocking on Hannah’s door. He was tired. His head ached and he just wanted a few moments of peace, that was until he’d heard Mathari’s name. Then he just ran. He jogged down the stairs and across the training field. He saw a figure crouched down in the gap between the bar and the stone wall next to it and fear gripped his throat. _Had someone hurt Mathari?_ His vision went red at the thought. The man looked up, and Cullen recognized Krem and then he saw Mathari curled in on her self. “Mathari, sweetheart,” Cullen knelt down, reaching for her and when she lifted her head, he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. “What happened?” he asked Krem as he gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. 

Krem ducked his head, hand rubbing against the back of his neck. “She stumbled out of the bar and was sick in the bushes. I just was going to check on her, but then she started going on about the Qunari invasion in Kirkwall. I think she went into the bar and saw Bull and…” he trailed off.

“Thank you, Krem,” Cullen said and held Mathari tighter. “I’ve got you, sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything is okay.” 


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I am bored out of my mind, so I give you another chapter! 
> 
> And I know it's all angst and shouting and drama, but it will start getting better! sooooon!

Wren woke with a start, the room was dark and her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. It took long seconds for her to focus. The apartment near the gardens in Skyhold. That is where she was. It was quiet. The middle of the night. Her back ached as she used her cane to push up to her feet. Mathari’s door was wide open and she wasn’t in her bed. Worry nagged at her. Was Mathari okay? Surely the tavern was closed by now. Where had she gone? Cullen, she thought and sunk her teeth into her lower lip. If Mathari was with Cullen, then she was safe. But if she wasn’t? 

Jules slept in the center of the big bed, blankets kicked down until it barely covered one foot, arms splayed, sleeping with an abandon in comfort he’d never known before. “I’m sorry we ever left Kirkwall,” she whispered. She made her way back down the hall and into the kitchen where she heated a pot of water and dug through what was left of her limited supplies to brew up some tea that might help calm her nerves.

Mathari was fine, she told herself. Of course, she was. But that didn’t stop her from pulling a stool up to the counter where she sat in the dark and waited, hoping that Mathari would come home. Given the circumstances, Wren had only ever tried to do what she thought was best for her. But apparently, Mathari felt otherwise.

The sun rose and Jules woke. Wren made breakfast for him and sipped more tea while he ate. “Come on, why don’t we go for a walk. There are stables here, maybe you could see the horses.” Jules’ face lit up. “But first, you have to get dressed,” she said and he jumped from his seat, ran down the hall. She followed a few minutes later, after cleaning up the dishes. Jules was half-dressed in trousers so torn they may as well have been rags, and they barely fit him. 

Once she found Mathari, reassured herself that the girl hadn’t come home simply to be petty, they had to go buy Jules some new clothing. She eyed the coin purse with a silent sigh. Jules’s clothes were more important than her need to escape, and if Cullen had an issue with it, well, then he could just give her the money to go away. Dressed, with hair combed, Wren took Jules’ hand and stepped out of the apartment. As usual, Jules could only stand Wren’s slow pace for so long, he released her hand, and ran ahead, waiting by the door, practically bounding in place.

Out in the main training yard, Wren ordered him not to run so far ahead, so he opted for running in large circles around her as she walked. Stopping, she looked around, searching for Mathari. She spotted Cullen, standing with Rylen and pursed her lips, dreading having to go over there. But if that is what it took, she’d suck it up and speak to him.

“‘Thari!” it was a delighted shout and Wren turned, saw her leaning against a stone wall, head cocked at an angle as if listening to someone, but she was alone. She looked up at the sound of Jules’ voice and then he was running to her. She caught him, swung him up into the air, and back down, up and back down. His shrieks of joy echoed through all of Skyhold. Mathari hugged him close, peppered kisses all over his face before setting him back down and nudging him back toward Wren. “Bye ‘Thari!” he shouted, running to Wren. He pulled up before slamming into her legs, but only just barely. “Horses, mama? Where’s the horses!” 

Reassured that Mathari was fine, Wren felt a slow, kindling anger. She tried. She tried so damn hard so that Mathari never put herself in the same position that Wren was in. So she’d never have to sell her body just to put food in their bellies, and nothing she’d done had been good enough. “Horses,” Wren said, shaking her head. “This way,” she nodded toward the path, knowing the general direction the stables were in.

Cullen stood with Rylen, going over reports in the training field. He’d not gotten much sleep the night before. Once Mathari had finally calmed down and fallen asleep on the couch in his office, he’d ended up sitting at his desk watching over her. Now his head ached and he was in no mood for reports of soldiers slacking on their duties.

“Huh,” Rylen made a quiet noise beside him and Cullen glanced up.

“What?”

Rylen was staring off at something across the field. “She has a child,” he said. “I didn’t know that.” 

Cullen blinked, looked and saw Wren standing not too far away. Jules was a streak of dark clothes and blonde hair as he ran to where Mathari stood. “You know her?” Cullen asked, keeping his voice low as he watched his friend.

The corner of Rylen’s mouth kicked up in a smile and he made another sound, one that was distinctly appreciative. “She works at the brothel, only recently,” he said and Cullen noticed that the man hadn’t taken his eyes off Wren. The brothel. That meant- Cullen forced the thought to a stop. “Been with her a few nights, she’s sweet, she-”

“You’re going to want to stop that sentence  _ right there  _ unless you’re interested in becoming a eunuch.” Rylen turned his head, eyebrows arched as he looked at Cullen.

Cullen held the other man’s gaze. He tried not to think about it. Not to imagine Wren on her knees in front of Rylen, or any of the other soldiers. Wren on her back, her copper curls spread out over the pillow, with another man over her. There was no reason for the clenching of his heart. He shouldn’t worry about her hurting her back, or if they treated her kindly. And he definitely was not jealous that this man who Cullen called friend had been with her. “Cullllllleeeeeeen,” this drawn-out shout was followed by a solid weight slamming into his shins.

“Jules,” Cullen slapped the clipboard against Rylen’s chest with far more force than necessary drawing a surprised ‘oof’ from him and then bent down to scoop Jules up. Small hands grabbed either side of Cullen’s face and Jules leaned in so that their noses touched.

“Horses. Mama says we’re gonna go see the horses. Ask, mama, you said you’d ask.” He broke his hold on Cullen’s face and twisted to look at Wren, Cullen glanced at her too. Her head was bowed and she was studiously avoiding meeting the gaze of anyone.

“Jules,” her voice was quiet. “Not right now, C- the Commander is busy. He’s working, remember what we talked about.” 

“But- mooooooooom,” he dragged it out. “You said-”

“Julian Roan,” she said his name sharply and the boy instantly went quiet and then squirmed until Cullen put him down.

“Sorry mama,” he ran to her but didn’t slam into her legs like he had Cullen’s. He wrapped one arm around her knee, hugged her. She reached down and smoothed a hand over the top of his head.

“It’s okay, come on, let's go see those horses.” Reproach forgotten, Jules broke free, shouted a goodbye and started down the path that Wren indicated. Cullen watched their retreating forms and he felt Rylen’s eyes on him. 

“Don’t,” he said, unable to look at his friend. “Just… don’t.” Cullen let out a breath and turned and walked away. Jogging up the stairs he went into his office and closed the door before leaning against it. “I don’t care,” he said to the empty room, trying to convince himself of that. Because how could he care, when she didn’t. She wouldn’t explain anything to him.  _ Have you given her reason to? You yell at her every time you see her.  _ And what in the name of the Maker had happened with Mathari? Her meltdown the night before had been somewhat understandable, as she hadn’t seen a Qunari since the attack in Kirkwall. But when she’d muttered about how much she hated Wren, Cullen hadn’t understood and she wouldn’t explain. What had happened to them?

Rubbing his hands over his face and through his hair, he crossed to his desk, considered the stacks of papers and all the work he needed to do, and walked out the opposite door to look down at the stables. They were just now approaching them, Jules darting ahead, only to turn and run back to Wren and repeat until she reached the stables.

“Whoa, mama, lookit.” Jules stood in front of one of the stables, head tilted back to stare up at the most horrific beast Wren had ever seen. A half-rotted, skeletal horse with, _ Creators, was that a sword through its head?  _

“Jules, get away from that,” she barely contained the fear in her voice. What other kinds of creatures did they have in there?  _ Bad idea _ , she realized. The entire thing had been a terrible idea.

“But mama,” Jules was holding his hands up, and he was too close and she was too far away. The beast lowered its head and Wren drew in a breath, ready to scream certain that Jules was a heartbeat away from being impaled. But all the creature did was nose at Jules’ empty hands and make him giggle. “Tickles! Mama! We need carrots! Or! Or apples!” Her heart was still pounding and her last steps to catch up with him were more of a lurch than anything else.

“That one is more fond of sugar cubes.” The low timbre of the voice sent a shiver down Wren’s spine and she saw Blackwall stepping out of the barn. He reached into his pocket and pulled out said item and laid it in Jule’s palm. “Keep your hand flat, don’t curl your fingers.” Jules did as he was told. “Just like that.” Then Jules held up his hand and the horse nuzzled again, this time taking the sugar cube, before butting against Jules’ side with his head making him laugh when it nearly knocked him over.

“Another!” he spun around, held up his hands and gave his most pleading look to Blackwall. Blackwall grinned, deposited another sugar cube in his palm and then looked at Wren.

“My lady,” he said with a nod of his head.

“Blackwall. Jules, be careful.” She inched closer to the stable, wanting to be within reach of Jules, just in case. “What is that thing? And is it safe? Is that really a sword sticking out of its head? Jules, please, be careful,” she pleaded as the horse lowered its head so that Julian could rub his palm up and down its long nose.

“Bog unicorn,” Blackwall said, leaning against the other side of the stable, so they bracketed horse and boy. “Safe as any horse, and yes, that is a sword.”

“Another!” A small hand thrust out toward Blackwall.

“Jules, I know you have better manners than that,” Wren frowned. Jules had very limited interaction with anyone other than herself and Mathari. But she’d tried so hard to teach him how to be polite.

He turned and looked at her, a frown marring his own features. “Right,” he ducked his head, one hand going to the side of his head as he tried to remember. “Please, Mr…. what’s your name?” he asked in a loud whisper, glancing over at Wren.

“Blackwall.”

Jules took a deep breath. “Please, Mr. Black’all, Ser, can I have ‘nother sugar cube?” Then Jules looked at Wren again, waiting for her approval, when she nodded, he beamed up at Blackwall, who laid another on his palm and gave Wren a wink.

“Of course, no son of mine would be interested in the nice normal horses, look at that one, right down there. No bog-rot, no gruesome sword protruding from its head.” 

“And not nearly as interesting,” Blackwall said with a grin and Wren found herself smiling back at him.

“Do you work with the horses?” she asked.

“No, that would be Master Dennet, I’ve just found it more comfortable out here in the barn. I do some woodworking, keeps the hands busy, much easier to do out here than inside some room in there,” he gestured vaguely toward the castle. Blackwall watched Wren, and the way she watched the boy as if she turned away for even an instant, he might disappear. She was pretty and soft and he liked how her hair fell loose over her shoulders in all those tight curls. 

Inappropriately, his mind flashed to how her hair curled around his fingers when he’d buried himself inside her. Heat flushed his cheeks. It had been too long, far too long since he’d been with a woman. Watching the way the slight breeze caught up her hair and blew strands of it in her face had his fingers itching to reach out and catch it. To cup her face, kiss her. And if it weren’t for the boy, he thought he just might.

Forcing himself to look away, he saw Cullen making his way toward the stables, looking determined. Blackwall glanced at Wren, who kept her eyes locked on the boy. Then he looked at Jules, glanced at Cullen and back again.  _ Well _ , he thought.  _ That answered one question at least. _ And raised quite a few new ones.

“Warden Blackwall,” Cullen’s voice was loud in the quiet of the stables and Blackwall saw Wren’s entire body seem to tense.

“Cullen!” Jules spun around and it was then that Cullen seemed to realize what the boy had been doing and where exactly he was standing.

“Jules, get away from that thing,” his tone was sharp, and then he turned his gaze on Wren. “What are you thinking letting him near that-that thing?” It was a shout, and the bog unicorn let out a snort, stamped its hoof.

“He’s fine,” Wren said, and finally she tore her gaze away from her son and turned fiery eyes on Cullen. “I’m standing right here. I have been watching him the entire time.” Her words were quiet, but her tone was hard as she took a step forward.

“All it takes is one second and you know that if that creature did anything, you couldn’t get to him in time.” He’d moved closer to her.

The blood drained from her face and she stared up at Cullen, the hurt was written across her features. “Fuck. You.” she ground out the words, her jaw clenched. “If you think, for one moment that I would ever stand by and allow any harm to come to him, you don’t know me at all.”

The two were toe to toe, and despite the height difference, almost nose to nose. “You’re right,” he growled. “I don’t know you. I thought you were a kind woman who put the wellbeing of everyone else before yourself. But I’ve come to realize how truly selfish you actually are. And you don’t care who gets hurt in the end.” 

Wren jerked back as if he’d slapped her. Jules moved up to her side and curled his arm around her legs, cheek pressed against her knee. She reached down to rest her head on Jules’s head, her fingers sliding through his soft hair. “Maybe you’re right. Come on, Jules, let’s go, we’ll come see the horses again another day.” She stepped around Cullen, and hand in hand with Jules they walked away. 

Cullen cursed and stormed off the other direction and Blackwall reached up to rub his hand down the nose of the bog unicorn, though distractedly because he was watching Wren and the boy retreat back through the large courtyard. He had no business getting involved with any of this, he knew that. He had so little to offer and yet he wanted to give her everything he had, just to coax a smile from her again or maybe even a laugh.


	46. Chapter 46

Mathari felt completely mortified by her breakdown the night before. The panic attack had been bad enough as it was but then add in the fact that she’d done it in front of that soldier. Krem, Cullen had called him. Once she’d managed to calm down, could breathe again, Cullen had explained who The Iron Bull was, and that Krem was one of his mercenaries. She’d felt a fresh wash of mortification at that because she’d ranted about how terrible qunari were. 

And she had cried in front of him. As she left Cullen’s office, with a stiff neck from sleeping on the couch, she tried to decide if she wanted to find Krem and apologize for her very existence, or dig a hole in the garden and bury herself, so she would never have to risk seeing him ever again. Or anyone else for that matter. Coming out of Cullen’s office after combing her fingers through her hair and doing her best to smooth down sleep rumpled clothes, Mathari made her way down the stairs. As her foot landed on the grass she glanced up and faltered. 

The training field was full of soldiers. Her breathing hitched and she scanned the crowd for Cullen, spotted him, too far away. And she had to stop this. Stop relying on him to save her, to protect her for her nightmares. In one direction lay a relatively clear path, though there were several Templars, in their Templar armor standing there. If she slunk along the other wall more soldiers. 

Reaching up she rubbed her knuckles along the scars on her cheek. She could go back up the stairs, take the long way along the ramparts, but there were more soldiers up there along with corners and doors. Her chest felt tight and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine.  _ No, oh no, not again. _ A hand curled around hers and she jerked in surprise. 

“Breathe,” he said and she blinked. A boy, no older than she was, with pale blonde hair. “Breathe,” he said it again and she sucked in a breath, realizing she’d stopped.

“Who are you? What are you-” she looked down at the hand around hers and her mind was telling her to pull away. She didn’t want to be touched, didn’t like the idea of a stranger so close.

“They won’t hurt you,” he said, and his voice was oddly calming and she felt her racing heart beginning to slow. “So many walls,” he said quietly, while staring into her eyes and Mathari jerked her hand away from his, suddenly disturbed by those eyes that seemed to see everything.

“Don’t touch me,” she rasped, feeling the panic building again. She’d get Cullen’s attention, she didn’t care how weak it made her.

“Anger. Festers and rots and eats away at all the good inside you.”

“Shut up,” her voice was barely a whisper.

“It wasn’t her fault. You protected the boy. She didn’t know.” He cocked his head, held out his hand. “Shouts and bitter rage. Burns on small hands. Blood between your-” 

Mathari whimpered. “Stop,” she begged, tears blurring her vision. It was impossible for him to know anything about it. She’d never spoken a word of what had happened, blocked all the memories but held onto the anger because it was all that kept her from breaking. “Please, stop.”

The young man stood so close and the clanging of swords and shields faded. “I can help,” he told her and Mathari looked down at the hand he still held out to her. 

She shook her head. “You can’t.” Because she’d ruined everything already. Mathari knew deep down that Wren would forgive her. If she told her, she’d forgive her, and Mathari knew she didn’t deserve it. Her blood pounded in her ears and it drowned out the din of the soldiers. She started walking, desperate to escape from this boy who saw too much. Impossible. _Impossible_ , she screamed in her mind. _I don’t want to think about it!_

“I can make you forget,” he was sitting on the wall a few feet away. How did he get in front of her?

“Why are you doing this?” her voice cracked.

“I want to help.”   
  


By the time they reached the village, Wren had just barely managed to stop grinding her teeth. She understood Cullen’s anger that she’d disappeared and refused to tell him why. But treating her as if she’d never cared about anyone or anything but herself was outright cruel. Though, maybe she deserved it.

_ Tell him the truth _ , she thought.

Then what?

_ Then nothing _ . 

Wren shoved Cullen from her mind as she and Jules walked into one of the shops. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d purchased new clothing. Before leaving Kirkwall. Her own dresses she’d simply patched up, let out and then taken back in. A few she’d been given second hand and she’d always given the nicer ones to Mathari. Jules’s clothes had mostly been charity handouts or purchased second hand from someone with a child who was of similar size.

“Jules,” she said, fingers gliding over a pair of trousers. “What about these?”

“Itchy,” he said, without even looking, too absorbed by the assortment of small toys they had carefully displayed on several shelves. She picked out a few new shirts, a couple of pairs of pants and glanced at him, eyed his shoes and barely bit back a sigh. He was growing again. Likely, none of this would fit him in a couple of months. 

Setting them on the counter, she winced hearing the woman tell her how much. It would put quite the dent in her minuscule funds. Glancing back over at Jules, she watched him for a moment. The wooden halla was exquisitely detailed and he stared at it in wonder, one finger barely touching it as he traced the curling horns. “How much for the halla?” she asked, though it didn’t matter, she’d give Jules anything, just to see him smile. 

“Oh, we don’t charge for the carvings, the Warden Blackwall makes ‘em for the kids. Help yourself.”

Clothing tucked into a canvas bag, and her coin purse considerably lighter, Wren walked over to where Jules still looked over the various toys. A ball attached by a string to a cup. A nug on wheels that could be pulled along behind you and a wide assortment of carved wooden animals and people with painted on faces. “Time to go, Jules,”

“Mama, lookit,” he gestured to the shelf, his eyes drifting back to the halla. “Think there’s a halla in the stables?”

Wren smiled a little. “I don’t think so.” She reached out, lifted the wooden carving from the shelf and was surprised by how light it was and wondered what kind of wood it might be made from. “But, this one is yours.”

He just stared at her, eyes impossibly wide. “What?”

“Do you want it?” she asked, lifting her brows at him and he nodded slowly. “It’s yours, baby.”

Holding it out to him, he took it with gentle hands and then held it to his chest and looked up at Wren. “Thank you, mama,” he said as if she’d just give him the world. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked quickly. 

“You’re welcome, my baby.”

“Ari-doll can ride it!” he proclaimed excitedly.

“She can,” Wren agreed as they made their way out of the store. “What are you going to name it?” she asked and watched him frown as he stared intently at the halla, turning it this way and that as if he could divine the name from the carving itself.

“Wren!” a voice called and she looked over her shoulder and all the bubbly warmth and happiness she’d felt from her small gift to Jules evaporated. “Hey, hi, you’re Wren, right?” Short black hair swished as she jogged to catch up, a nug clutched in her arms squeaking at the indignation. “I’m Hannah,” she shifted her squirming burden and thrust a hand out to Wren.

Wren looked at the woman’s hand, then at her own, one holding the bag, the other on her cane before returning her gaze to Hannah’s. “Hello,” she forced out.

Hannah’s smile faltered a little and she drew back her hand. “Sorry. This is awkward, isn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“S’that a nug?” Jules asked head cocked to one side as he held his new toy to his chest. 

“It is,” Hannah grinned down at him. “I know someone who likes them very much and this little guy was all alone. You must be Jules?” she crouched down in front of him. “Want to pet him?” Hannah looked up at Wren. “Is it okay?” Jules looked up too, eyes pleading and Wren nodded because if she opened her mouth she might scream, or start crying. 

Why did she have to be nice?

Halla tucked under one arm, Jules reached out and gently rubbed his hand over the little pink creature's head and grinned when it licked his hand. “How’d you know my name?” he asked.

“Cullen told me all about you and the games you played yesterday. He told me he had a lot of fun.”

Jules frowned, drawing back from the nug and leaned against Wren’s leg. “He yelled at mama when I was lookin’ at the horses.” Wren stared down at the top of Jules’ head and avoided looking at Hannah, though she felt the other woman’s gaze on her.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of him, was it?”

“Nu-uh. He’s s’possed to ‘pologize. Mama makes me ‘pologize if I yell, or I have to sit in a time out.”

“You are absolutely right, he definitely owes your mama an apology.” Hannah stood back up and offered Wren a sad smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

Wren wanted to rail. If she’d been rude or spiteful Wren could have easily justified going to Cullen and confessing everything. But she was nice, and she’d been kind to Jules. “Inquisitor,” Wren inclined her head and then turned and started walking again, desperate to escape.

After Hannah delivered the baby nug to Leliana, she made her way to Cullen’s office and stood in the doorway, watching him for several moments feeling a little perplexed. His desk, never particularly neat, even under the best of circumstances, was a disaster. Papers were strewn about, scattered on the floor and she watched as the new stack he was rifling through was tossed unceremoniously down with the rest of them before he turned, and started going through the stack of things on his chair. 

Worry tugged at her and she wondered if this had something to do with the lyrium withdrawal. He kept the small box on a shelf, and she’d caught him staring at it longingly more than once. There was an odd frantic energy to his motions. Annoyed, he threw the stack of books off the chair, turned back to his desk, grabbed another book and then tossed it to the floor. 

“Everything alright?” Hannah asked, finally stepping through the door.

“It’s fine,” he said, barely glancing up from his mission.

“Looking for something?” He grunted quietly, started shuffling through more papers. “I ran into Wren in the village.” Cullen made another quiet grunt, his lips pursing. “Jules too,” she said, watching him, though he was so distracted by whatever it was he was searching for he barely even seemed to notice her. “According to him, you need to apologize to Wren, or you’ll need a time out.” 

Cullen’s head jerked up and he finally looked at Hannah. “What?”

“Jules said you yelled at Wren.” 

Cullen closed his eyes and the expression on his face was one so full of pain that Hannah’s heart ached. He rubbed his hands over his face and collapsed back into the chair that he’d just emptied. “Shit,” he breathed quietly and she blinked at him. Hannah could count the number of times she’d heard him curse on one hand. “He’s right. I did. In front of him. Fuck. Some impression I made.” His head fell back against the chair and he opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “She said she went and saw Mia. About a month ago. Mia wrote, I think it was after when she would have visited, but, I never read the letter. Word arrived at the same time that you’d fought that dragon,” he shot her a wry smile.

“You make it sound like I fought it alone and didn’t have the mighty Seeker Pentaghast at my side.”

“I just want to know if she did, or if that is just another lie.”

“And Mathari?”

Cullen shook his head, raked his fingers through his hair, causing the curls to stand up more than usual. “She won’t say anything. I don’t know what happened to her. She used to be…” he sighed, pushed up to resume his search. “She loved Wren, idolized her. But now, she is just so angry.”

“What are you hoping to find in this letter from Mia?” Hannah leaned her hip against the desk.

“A clue, or something. I don’t know. Anything. To find out if Wren really was there. None of it makes any damn sense.” More papers slipped to the floor at Hannah’s feet and she stooped down to scoop them up, holding them to her chest as she watched Cullen. “She wouldn’t do it. I know Wren. She’d give up everything she had for everyone else. There was a man once, an addict. He came and he threatened her, and even cut her with a filthy knife, and she gave him something to help with the withdrawal, she gave him food and ordered him to return in two weeks. And he did. And she spent over a year helping him through his addiction.

“Hardly anyone could afford to pay her, yet she spent her own coin to buy supplies that they would need. She gave them food from her own cupboard and never asked for anything in return. I was so angry that she’d put herself in that kind of situation, I yelled at her, I called her a whore. Do you know what she did?” Hannah shook her head, papers still held tight to her chest. “She slapped me. She slapped me and yelled at me and told me she would do it, go back to selling her body if it meant she could save  _ one  _ person from suffering.” 

_ He’ll choose her _ , Hannah thought. As soon as he got his answers from Wren, found out what happened to make her leave him. Hannah knew she didn’t stand a chance, and yet, she still hoped. A sound at the doorway had them both turning their heads. “Commander,” one of the soldiers said, ignoring the mess of papers and books all around the room. “There is a group of Templars that just arrived, who wanted to speak with you.” 

“I’ll be right there,” Cullen said, and he sounded exhausted. The soldier walked away and Hannah watched Cullen draw himself up, straighten his spine and offer her a smile before he walked out of his office. Finally, Hannah set down the stack of papers on the desk, watched them slide from the neat pile they’d been in. The corner of one page and the looping signature caught her attention and carefully she pulled it free.

The letter was long, words scrawled tightly on the page.

_ Cullen.  _

_ My dear brother. _

_ I am utterly ashamed of you.  _

_ It is one thing to let me, your sister, believe that you parished not once, but  _ **_twice_ ** _ , but to allow the woman you love think it? What is wrong with you? In case you are confused, Wren, the woman you wrote to me about, proclaiming your love for, and begging my approval, just arrived on my doorstep and I have never seen a more heartbroken soul. _

Hannah glanced at the doorway, her heart trip hammering in her chest, then back to the parchment in her hand that went on and on. 

Wren had thought Cullen was dead. Her vision swam with tears. But that didn’t make sense, the letters had stopped long before Meredith had snapped. Hannah’s shoulders slumped. Was it possible that Meredith had found out about Wren? Cullen said the woman had known about her, had caused trouble for nearly a year for them. Hannah wanted to rail. Because Cullen would never choose her. 

She loved him, but not once had he said the words back to her. Unless, she thought, staring at the letter. Unless he never found out. Wren didn’t seem inclined to tell him. Mathari definitely wasn’t. And who was she to make the choice for them? Folding the letter, Hannah told herself that it wasn’t wrong before she stuffed it into the pocket of her trousers and left Cullen’s office.


	47. Chapter 47

Later that evening,  Wren sat at a small table, tucked away in the corner of the tavern. She’d already had dinner with Jules and Mathari, though the latter wasn’t speaking to her. It wasn’t anything new. Wren held back the sigh. She’d offered Mathari coin from her meager savings and had only gotten a blunt refusal. 

“Mind if I join you?” 

Wren jerked in surprise at the voice and looked up to see Rylen standing over her. “No, of course not,” she said, waving to the seat across from her as she sat up a little straighter. Her cheeks went warm and she felt awkward and nervous. He’d seen Jules the day before. Unless Cullen had outright lied, he had to know that Jules was his. “But… why?” Unless he was hoping to gain her company for the evening? There were some of the other girls in the tavern, perched in laps, looking for customers for the night.

“You look like you could use a friend, lass,” he said the words so sincerely, her heart clenched in her chest and when he reached out to lay a calloused hand over the back of hers she felt her eyes sting with unshed tears. Wren stared down at their hands, his long fingers that bore the same thick lines that were tattooed over his chin. She knew they continued up his arm, around his shoulder and took up a large portion of his back.

“A friend?” she echoed quietly and his thumb rubbed over her own. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had one of those,” she admitted.

He flashed her a grin when she looked up at him, and his eyes were sympathetic. “Then all the more reason to let me be one. I can list off my qualifications,” he told her. “I’m loyal and a good listener, I’ve got sisters, so crying women don’t terrify me.” Wren laughed quietly. “I’m also willing to kick in the teeth of anyone who hurts you.” The tears were back and Wren squeezed his hand, unable to form words around the sudden lump in her throat. “Plus,” he squeezed her hand. “I’m really skilled at carrying around heavy furniture.” 

Her laugh came out choked and she looked up at him. “That… that would be really nice.” Wren wasn’t sure how much she believed him, or how much he really meant it. She wasn’t about to start confessing everything to him, but the idea that she might have a shoulder to lean on made thinking about what was to come feel a little less overwhelming. 

“You already have supper?” he asked, glancing toward the bar where he caught the attention of one of the servers.

“Yes,” she told him. “But by all means.”

“I already ate,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you had too. A drink then?” 

“What can I get you Knight-Captain?”

“Mead,” he said. “What are you having lass?”

“The same.” The server disappeared and then returned a few moments later, large mugs in hand. “Thank you,” Wren said and she felt oddly reluctant to pull her hand away from his. It had been a long time since she’d had this sort of casual touch. “Knight-Captain?” she asked, her other hand curling around her mug. “You’re a Templar?”

“Was a Templar,” he corrected her. “In Starkhaven. After the Chantry exploded and Knight-Commander Meredith went insane from the red lyrium, I went to Kirkwall.” 

Wren blinked, stunned. “What?” The Knight Commander went insane? The Chantry exploded?

“You didn’t know?”

Wren shook her head. “I left before all of that.” Was that why Mia had thought Cullen was dead? “I’ve kept to myself for the last few years.” Maybe if she hadn’t, she might have figured out sooner that Cullen was still alive. But what did it matter now? 

As if thinking about him conjured him, he was suddenly standing by the table. Wren yanked her hand from Rylen’s grip and tucked both hands under the table and kept her head lowered as if he might not notice her. She was fairly certain that if he yelled at her again she’d snap and every single person in Skyhold would hear her. Would he judge her like Mathari did? Unfit to be a mother. She couldn’t be allowed to raise their child. Would he condemn her as a whore in front of all of these people, in front of Rylen? 

“Rylen,” Cullen’s voice wasn’t loud, but still it seemed to echo in her ears. “Do you mind giving us a moment?”

Rylen’s hand was still stretched across the table and he drummed his fingers on the wood. “Oh, I’m not sure,” he said, tapping the table again. “Lass?” Wren lifted her head just enough to peer at him. “You interested in having a moment with the Commander? If not, I think I’ll just stay right here.” 

Cullen made a quiet, impatient sound and Wren felt the temptation to ignore him. But she was there in Skyhold on borrowed time as it was. Cullen had wanted her gone. “It’s alright, Rylen, thank you,” she finally said and watched him watch her for a moment as if he was trying to decide if she meant it. 

Then he nodded a little and stood, causing Cullen to take a step back, and then as if Cullen wasn’t there, he moved to stand beside her chair and ducked his head down, his breath warm on her ear. “The bastard may be my friend, but I’m still willing to kick his teeth in for you.” 

Wren couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out and she tilted her head back and met his mischievous gaze. “Thank you,” she told him, reaching up to lightly pat his cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then he was gone and Cullen sunk down into the seat he’d vacated. She looked at him, and he stared back silently. Wren found herself wondering what he saw when he looked at her. 

Mistakes? Regrets? Was there anything left of the woman she’d been nearly five years ago? Was there anything left of the man she’d fallen in love with sitting in the chair across from her? 

“I hear Jules says I owe you an apology for yelling at you.” Wren’s brows rose at that as she slid her hands out from under the table to curl around her mug again. “I don’t agree,” he said and she scoffed.

“Well, this has been enlightening, if you’ll excuse me,” she grabbed for her cane, one hand braced on the table, ready to push away.

“It’s not enough,” he went on. “I owe you an apology for what I said, as well.” Wren blinked, frozen in her bid to escape. “I’m sorry, Wren. It wasn’t true. Not in the slightest. I do know you, five years doesn’t change that. Five years doesn’t change the core of the woman you are. And I know you would die before you let anything happen to,” Cullen swallowed. “To our son. Or anyone else for that matter.” 

Wren slowly leaned back in her chair and settled her cane against the edge of the table once more. “What brought this on?” she asked, tentatively. 

She watched as he leaned forward, rested his arms on the table and dragged in a long breath. Her heart skipped a beat or three when he met her gaze and held it. He couldn’t have figured it out, there was no way he could have. “Because I stopped and actually thought about it for more than thirty seconds without focusing on my own hurt. I know you, Wren.” 

She had to tear her gaze away from his, worried he saw too much. “I never meant to hurt you,” Wren’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“What happened? Tell me the truth this time. Please.”

Wren opened her mouth, she thought about it. Ready to spill everything to him. But she caught a glimpse of Hannah coming down the stairs. She didn’t see them, didn’t turn their way, but instead pulled out a chair to sit with the Iron Bull and his mercenaries. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she murmured. “It won’t change anything. I still left. It’s been five years and nothing is the same anymore.” 

A scowl pinched Cullen’s features as he sat back in his chair and watched her. “It matters to me. Because I know how damn stubborn you are, and how you put everyone else before yourself. Which is why none of it makes sense. You are unselfish to a fault. I know that those vows we made meant something to you,” his voice had gone low and Cullen leaned forward again. 

“You’re wrong,” her voice cracked and she couldn’t look at him. Why was he talking about that? That night and the promises they had made, to her had been a true marriage. She was his and he was hers and it didn’t matter anymore. Absently she rubbed her thumb along the base of her ring finger. How long until she didn’t feel like part of her was missing? How long until he gave it to Hannah? 

“I know you better than that.”

“Do you though?” She tried for haughty, but as she once again met his gaze, Wren felt herself deflate.

“Yes.” Her jaw trembled and she ducked her head again, staring into her mug as if it might hold all the answers. “Do you need anything? Anything at all, you, or Jules. Say the word and it’s yours.” 

“Jules wants to spend more time with you.”

“Yes, please,” he said it quickly, then he shook his head with a frown. “Are you okay with that? I… I owe him an apology as well. I’ve never been particularly fond of that horse, and that is no excuse. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I shouldn’t have said what I said. It is unforgivable. Why aren’t you shouting at me? You should be shouting at me.”

Wren watched Cullen. Five years ago she would have yelled at him. She would have threatened him and wouldn’t have cared who saw or what they heard. “I’m tired, Cullen. I’m just… tired.” She’d lost everything. She’d lost him, she’d lost Mathari, and Jules, she’d lose him too. And Wren wasn’t sure she had it in her to keep fighting. “Were you there when Mathari told him who exactly you were to him?” Cullen shook his head and Wren reached up to rub a finger at her temple. “Well, she did.” 

“That’s fine if you’re alright with it. Wren, we-” he drew in a breath. “You know how much I wanted to have children. I want to be his father. How ever you’ll let me.” Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she stared down at a knot in the wooden tabletop. “So much for twenty of them,” he said and the amusement was forced and she couldn’t look up because she still wished for that house full of children that she’d never get.

“You and Hannah are still young, once this breach situation is sorted out, you’ll have time.” The words felt like glass in her throat. She imagined Hannah would be a wonderful mom and couldn’t look up and see what she was certain would be a look of renewed hope on Cullen’s face. “I want Mathari to have her own room if it’s possible. I can’t- if Jules and I need to stay out in the village, it’s fine, we’ll figure it out, but I can’t do it anymore.”

After several beats of silence, Cullen finally cleared his throat, “what happened with her?”

Wren’s quiet laugh was bitter and she shook her head, finally risking a look at Cullen again. “I wish I knew. Things were… fine, for a while.”

Cullen’s brows drew together. “I’ll talk to Josephine and see what can be done. It may take a few days, there are some…” he hesitated. “They always need help in the kitchens or in the laundry. The ones who work in those areas tend to have rooms together. I had offered to introduce her to the apothecary, but maybe she should have to work up to that.” 

Wren shook her head a little, sighing quietly as she reached up to run a hand through her hair. “She’s missed out on so much, Cullen, it wouldn’t be fair-”

Cullen slapped his hand on the table, leaning forward with a serious look on his face. “How long after you left Kirkwall did you go back to the brothels?” Wren flinched at the anger in his voice. “Five years you protected her, kept her safe at your own expense and she has the gall to be ungrateful?”

“Cullen,” Wren wanted to lean forward, to cover his hand with her own. “She blames me for every bad thing. I should have left her in Kirkwall.”

He was quiet for a moment, then he leaned forward until their faces were only inches apart. Wren held her breath. So close she could see the flecks of gold in his whiskey-colored eyes and for a moment she was utterly lost in them. “That’s why I don’t believe you when you say you used me to get out of Kirkwall. She blames you for everything and you still want to protect her and make sure she gets all the things she wanted. What about you Wren? What about what you wanted?”

Wren’s lips were trembling and Elgar’nan, he saw too much, knew her too well. “I-I need to go. I have to work.” Her fingers were shaking as she wrapped them around her cane and pushed her chair back from the table.

“No you don’t,” Cullen’s voice was low. “Wren, you don’t have to do that.” She glanced at him and his cheeks were pink.

“I need money, after all, someone told me they wanted me out of Skyhold days ago.” 

Cullen’s cheeks went even pinker and he shook his head. “I didn’t mean it.”

It made her feel a little better knowing that he wasn’t on the verge of kicking her out, but would it last? “I still need money, Cullen. Jules needs more clothes, and-”  _ and I want to give him everything he hasn’t had in the last four years _ . “And it costs money to live.”

“I’ll introduce you to Adan, he’s the apothecary. I’m certain that your knowledge and skills would be highly beneficial to the Inquisition.”

“We’ll see,” Wren said. “I’ll think about it.” She missed it, but surely, this Adan, was far more skilled than she was. “Good night, Cullen.” Then she turned and walked away from the table and out of the tavern. Through the village, she rehashed the conversation with Cullen. He did know her, far too well, and it worried her.

When she walked into the brothel she was thinking about Cullen. Wondering if he could forgive her. If she could forgive him. Surely, she’d earned the anger with her lies. But if she told him the truth, then what? They couldn’t just pick up where they left off five years ago. Cullen was with the Inquisitor and Wren refused to be the kind of person who would set out to split them up. Besides, they suited each other, didn’t they? So she needed to stop thinking about it. 

“My lady.” Wren looked up in surprise. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the man in front of her.

“Blackwall,” she found a smile tugging at her lips, despite herself. Wren wasn’t sure that he’d come back, not after the fight he’d witnessed. What did this man think of her?

“Are you alright?” he asked, thick brows furrowing together as he searched her face. 

She reached up with one hand, let her fingers slide through his beard to rub against his jaw. “Are you here for my company tonight?” she asked, and Wren was surprised by how hopeful she felt. She knew that it really didn’t mean anything that he’d come to see her again. In her short time, she’d already had few repeat visits from the soldiers, including Rylen. Now that they were friends, did that mean he wouldn’t come see her at the brothel?

One of his big hands slid along her hip, squeezed and he leaned in closer. “If you’re willing to spend it with an unworthy old man.”

Pressing closer to him, she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. “I would most assuredly enjoy your company this evening,” she told him, letting her voice go low with the promise of all sorts of pleasure. What surprised her though, was that she meant it.


	48. Chapter 48

After Wren left, Cullen sat there, staring at the mugs that had been left behind. He half contemplated downing the contents and hoping for something strong. The conversation had been civil. _I’m tired._ Her words were a punch to the stomach. _I’m just tired_. He’d fix it for her. Somehow. 

Finally, he got up and went to his office, mind racing over what he could do. He’d talk to Adan. She enjoyed making her tonics and things, so why was she reluctant? Because she didn’t want to take that away from Mathari? Well, he thought. Too bad. Sinking down at his desk, he grabbed a quill and paper and then just stared at the blank parchment in front of him. He’d write to Mia. But how did he admit to her that he’d lost the letter she’d written? He couldn’t. So how was he supposed to figure out if Wren had been there? 

Cullen wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, starting letters and then promptly throwing them away when he heard someone at the door. Glancing up, Hannah padded in, a smile on her face. “I saw you talking with Wren in the tavern, how did it go?” She crossed the room to lean against the desk near him.

He had no reason to feel guilty. But that thought didn’t stop the roiling in his belly as Hannah leaned down to brush her mouth over his. His heart kicked in his chest and he couldn’t figure out if it stemmed from the realization that he’d been so focused on Wren he hadn’t even thought of Hannah once, or because Hannah’s fingers were sliding through his hair as their lips met in a languid kiss.

“Fine,” he said, breaking the kiss. Normally, he’d have leaned back in his chair, tugged Hannah into his lap. But instead, he leaned forward, elbow resting on the edge of his desk. “I need to write to Mia,” he told her.

“Did you find anything out?” Hannah’s voice was soft and he just shook his head. “Maybe… maybe you should let it go? It’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about whatever happened.”

Cullen glanced up at her, a deep frown creasing his brow. “You’re the one who kept telling me I needed closure.” 

“I know,” she curled her arms around her middle. “I know, you do. But…” she trailed off and raked a hand through her short crop of hair. “Nevermind. We’re heading to Val Royuex tomorrow to see about this issue with the House of Repose coming after Josie.”

“I know,” Cullen said. He’d been in the war room when they had discussed it.

“I’ll be gone about a week, I was hoping we… I’ll miss you.”

Cullen opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. That roiling was back. “Go on up,” he nodded to the ladder. “I’ll be up in a few, let me just finish this.” The expression on her face brightened and she leaned down to kiss him again before crossing the room and climbing up the ladder.

 _Wren wouldn’t be able to climb that ladder_ , he thought as her boots disappeared over the edge. Then he shook his head and speared his fingers through his hair. There would be no reason for Wren to need to go up the ladder, he chided himself. 

  
  


In the small room in the brothel, Wren lit a few candles, bathing the room in a soft glow. Task complete, she turned and found Blackwall sitting on the edge of the bed. He crooked a finger and she closed the distance, coming to stand between his thighs. Blackwall’s hands rested on her hips and he angled his head back to look up at her. “I was in the village today,” Wren told him, leaning down to nuzzle the side of his neck. “In that little shop down the way,” Her fingers tugged at the small buttons at the collar of his tunic. “Jules needed new clothes.” Buttons undone, she shifted to the other side of his neck. “Of course he was only interested in the toys there,” her lips curved into a slight smile and she slid one hand to the back of his neck to stroke the hair at his nape. “When you said you did woodwork, you didn’t mention how talented you were.” 

Blackwall’s hands tightened on her hips and Wren lifted her head to peer down at him. His cheeks were flushed and she had a feeling it wasn’t because of her kisses. “Well, I- it’s nothing. It makes the kids happy. They deserve it, after what most of them have been through.” 

He was flustered and his words made Wren’s heart melt. “Jules picked the Halla,” she murmured, and lightly tugged at Blackwall’s hair when he ducked his head so she could look into his grey eyes. “It’s beautiful and oh, Elgar’nan, he loves it.” Jules hadn’t put it down since he’d gotten it, and indeed, Ari-doll had been a perfect fit to ride the wooden creature. “Though,” she smiled. “I’m fairly certain those horns are going to put out my eye, so I might resort to sleeping on the couch.” 

Blackwall chuckled and the hands on her hips slid down over her thighs. “I’m glad he likes it.”

Liking it was an understatement, but she couldn’t put into words how much the gift meant not just to Jules, but to her. They’d always had so little, and they had made due, seeing how happy it made her son meant the world to her. Wren took a step back, shifting to sink down onto her knees in front of him, but Blackwall stood up, his hands cupping her rear and lifting her off her feet. She let out a surprised sound and her hands went to his shoulders. “What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“That’s new,” he inclined his head behind her and she looked at the short chest of drawers that Sophie had brought in, despite Wren’s refusal.

Wren quirked a brow at Blackwall. “And?” He crossed the room and sat her down on the bare surface.

“You might want to hold onto something,” Blackwall said and Wren dropped her hands to curve around the front edge, felt the smooth polished surface beneath her fingers.

“Oh?” the word was a breathy question that turned into a quiet gasp when he sunk down on his knees in front of her and dipped his hands beneath the hem of her long dress. Calloused fingers over bare ankles as he slipped her simple shoes from her feet and tossed them aside. Then he slid his hands up the backs of her calves, stroked the soft spot behind either knee as he nudged them apart. 

Blackwall withdrew one hand, grabbed hold of the hem of her dress and pushed it up further, until it bunched just above her knees. “Hold this for me,” he said and Wren uncurled one hand from the edge of the dresser to grab onto the fabric.

Then his lips were on the inside of her knee and she shuddered at the sensation. “Blackwall,” she breathed his name. “You don’t… you don’t have to-” his beard rasped against her skin.

“You don’t enjoy it, my lady?” he asked, and Wren felt her core clench.

“Call me that again,” she said and his brows lifted.

“My lady?” His voice was low and she felt mildly embarrassed by how wet her smalls had grown just from those two words. “Tell me, _my lady_ ,” he placed a sucking kiss against the inside of her thigh just above her knee. “Do you enjoy having my mouth lapping at your sweet little cunt?”

It was vulgar and Wren had heard far worse before but never had it made her thighs clench and her breath catch. “Yes,” she gasped out. “Gods, yes.” 

Blackwall teased his way up one thigh, nudging them wider, making space for himself there, then he repeated his ministrations, his soft sucking kisses and gentle nips up the other thigh. Wren was trembling with lust, her smalls were utterly soaked and her need felt desperate. Blackwall finally dragged the offending garment down her legs and ran his tongue up the wet trail the fabric had left behind. Then his mouth was on her and she was lost. 

Wren had no idea how much time had passed, but as she blinked and saw how low the candles had burned down, she imagined it had been a few hours. Blackwall lay with his chest against her back, his mouth was on the back of her neck and their bodies were damp with sweat. She was lax and sated. With Blackwall’s big body so warm behind her, his arms holding her, she felt safer than she’d felt in a very long time. As if he might be able to keep her safe, and he hadn’t paid a hefty bit of coin for her to spread her legs for him. 

Tears burned her eyes suddenly and she felt Blackwall go still behind her and realized her entire body had tensed, the hand that rested on the curve of her waist squeezed gently. “Wren?” his voice was so quiet she felt the rumble of it more than heard it.

“Hm?” she drew in a breath, tried to relax.

“Are you alright?” he shifted, propping himself up on one arm, then his free hand gently pushed her hair back.

She didn’t look at him, she couldn’t. “Yeah,” her voice cracked and she closed her eyes. “Shit,” she breathed out. “I’m fi-” Wren pressed her hands to her face as the sob escaped her lips. Mortification washed over her.

“Hey, now,” Blackwall’s voice was soft against her ear and she felt him gently tug her over so that she faced him. She kept her face covered and he ran one hand down her arm, then around to splay over her back as he pulled her closer against him. “I’ve got you,” he murmured the words against her hair pressed his lips to her temple. “I’ve got you,” he repeated and Wren wrapped her arm around him, pressed her face against his chest, and gave up fighting the tears. 

Years of pent up pain, regret, and loneliness. She sobbed and he held her. “I’ve got you,” was his quiet mantra, while one hand rubbed up and down her back again and again as the grief poured out of her.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she croaked what felt like a year later after the tears had slowed. “Shit.” Wren pulled out of his arms and he let her. “Shit,” she wiped at her face as she sat up on the edge of the bed. She tugged at the sheet, feeling far more naked than she had hours earlier. “Shit.” The bed dipped and she felt him climb off the other side. _Shit_. She’d messed up. She’d made a complete fool of herself. 

He’d leave and avoid her at all costs. And maybe that was for the best. Elbows on her knees, she leaned forward to rest her head in her hands. Wren jerked in surprise when she felt fingers trace down her arms as Blackwall, dressed in his trousers, crouched down in front of her. He’d be kind about it, she thought. He’d be kind, but he’d make it clear he wouldn’t be back, not for her anyway.

“What can I do to help?”

“What?” her voice was a rasp and she swallowed a few times, shaking her head.

“What do you need? What can I do to help you?” 

Wren was still shaking her head, her brow pinched in confusion. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Her tears had broken his heart. Her sobs held a pain he couldn’t even fathom. “I wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t sure you wanted to talk about it,” he slid one hand up to gently brush his knuckles over one damp cheek. “Does it have to do with the Commander?” Her face crumpled and new tears overflowed. Blackwall had thought the man had been honorable, but after how he’d yelled at Wren earlier he’d begun to have second opinions, now he was certain, Commander Cullen was a bastard who didn’t deserve Wren, or the boy Jules. Not that he did himself either.

“Let me help, whatever it is you need, tell me and I’ll see to it.” He wondered where they were staying. Did the Inquisitor know about Wren? Had the Commander brought Wren here to be his mistress? Because all of Skyhold knew that he was with the Inquisitor and that she was starry-eyed in love with the man.

“Why?” her voice sounded so raw he wanted to fetch her something to drink, just to soothe her throat. Then her question registered and he rubbed the back of his neck as heat burned his cheeks.

Because he’d found himself utterly besotted with her and charmed by her son. “You’re hurting, and if there is something I can do, I want to do it.” He stroked his hand down her forearm. “Even if that means breaking the Commander’s legs.”

Wren snorted out a soggy laugh at that. “Oh, Blackwall.” She reached up and cupped his face then leaned in to brush a soft kiss against his lips. “You’re sweet. Between you and Rylen, the Commander won’t be so pretty anymore.”

“If he hurt you-”

Her features went serious and she shook her head. “No, no, it isn’t like that. He never hurt me. He and I… We have a long history and he has every right to be angry with me. I disappeared for nearly five years, only to show up here with his son in tow.”

“What he said to you at the stables-” 

Wren pressed her thumb to his lips, silencing him. “Was hurtful and he apologized.” She traced her thumb along the edge of his lower lip. “What am I supposed to do with you, Warden?” His brows drew together and he turned his head enough to kiss her palm. “You’re so unlike anyone… I’m not used to seeing people outside of the brothel, not anyone that I would actually want to speak with. Not anyone that was ever kind. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to do … anything.”

“Cullen-”

“He was never a… patron. It was never like that with him. I met him after I left the brothel in Kirkwall, and I hated him. Then we were friends, and then eventually we… we became lovers. And then I left.” She shook her head a little, tight curls bouncing from the movement. He reached up, caught one and wound it around his finger. “Five years,” she murmured, ducking her head. “It’s silly, so ridiculous, but it’s been five years since someone held me like you did, like I mattered to them.”

Her words were a fist around his heart. Maker’s balls, he’d take on the entire world for her. He lifted their joined hands up to tuck his fingers under her chin, to catch her gaze. “I’ll hold you anytime you need.”


	49. Chapter 49

The next several days passed more or less the same for Wren. She and Jules spent most of their time in the garden, while Mathari was elsewhere. She would return in the evenings and Wren would find herself at the tavern, sharing a drink with Rylen. He told her about growing up in Starkhaven with five older siblings. Then later, she would find herself in Blackwall’s arms in her small room in the brothel. 

Halfway to the brothel, Wren started regretting the decision. Her back ached. It had started up hours earlier when she and Jules had been playing in the garden, the uneven ground had caused something to pull and the pain had been nagging her ever since. But she enjoyed her time with Blackwall. It was too easy to pretend. Time with him was an escape from everything else. 

She didn’t have to worry about Mathari and how quiet she’d grown over the course of the past days. Wren didn’t know if Cullen had told her that she wanted Mathari to stay someplace else. She didn’t snap at her, she didn’t sneer. Mathari was just so quiet. When she was with Blackwall, Wren didn’t have to worry about Jules and his disinterest in spending time with Cullen. She had offered it and he’d simply told her no. 

So in spite of the pain, Wren found herself in the brothel, in her dimly lit room, sitting with her back flush against the wall, while Blackwall lay sprawled out on the bed, his head in her lap telling her ridiculous stories that made her laugh and forget everything else for a little while.

When he left, Wren contemplated retreating to the baths and sinking into one of the private tubs filled to the brim with near scalding water. But sighed in resignation realizing if she got in, she’d likely never get back out. Her mind wandered as she walked through the village and back through the main gate into Skyhold. 

Wren came up short when she spotted two men, one appeared to be unconscious and the other was trying to heft him up the stairs. “Rylen? Is… is he drunk?” It was Cullen, with his head so low his chin rested against his chest and he staggered, even with Rylen’s help.

“Ah, lass,” he let out a breath. “No, it’s the Lyrium withdrawal.”

Wren moved closer, a furrow deepening between her brows as she took in Cullen’s appearance. His hair was matted down with sweat, his head lolled, eyes slitting open just a crack. “Wren,” her name was barely a croak and he lifted a hand, reached out, but it flopped back down at his side and Rylen grunted as Cullen’s knees buckled. Wren lurched forward, ignored the pain that shot down her leg from the small of her back.

She curled a hand around his elbow, though she knew that there was nothing she could do to support his weight. “Where is the Inquisitor?”

“I’ve got him, lass,” Rylen said, and then she watched as he hoisted Cullen up over his shoulder. “The Inquisitor is in Val Royeux, has been for the last few days.” 

“Is there someone…” Wren started to reach out, but then drew her hand back and curled it into a fist. “He shouldn’t be alone like this.”

“I’ll sit with him.”

Wren looked at Rylen, holding Cullen as if his weight were inconsequential. “Where are you taking him?”

“Up to his office, his bed is in the loft, but I’ll toss him on the couch.” He started to turn away but Wren reached out, her fingers curling in the sleeve of Rylen’s tunic.

“Wait, you said… he stopped taking the Lyrium?” It could kill him. She knew that much. “How long ago?”

“When he left Kirkwall. We’ve been through this a few times, lass, fever, and nightmares and he’ll be as good as new in a day or two.” 

She could just return to her own quarters. Wren knew she should. Rylen would take care of him and besides, it was likely Cullen wouldn’t want her there with him. “Take him up, I’ll be right there,” she jerked her chin up the stairs. Her back pulsed with pain just thinking about all those steps.

Rylen turned and made his way up quickly. She was barely halfway up the stairs when he came jogging back down. “I have a black satchel at my apartment if you could get that?” she asked. “And tell Mathari, she should come. She can do this. I’m sure both her and Cullen would prefer it.” She relayed where the apartment was located and continued up the stairs.

Her breath came in short gasps by the time she reached the top and pushed through the door into Cullen’s office. He lay haphazardly sprawled on the couch. One leg hanging off, an arm tossed over his head. Wren looked down at him for a moment an image of how Julian slept overlaying Cullen’s form, it made her heart ache then she shook her head and sunk down to her knees beside the couch with a quiet groan.

She went to work loosening the straps on the vambraces and tossing them aside. Then his boots. The chest piece proved far more difficult because she couldn’t pull him up enough to release the buckle behind his shoulder. Wren heard pounding footsteps and glanced up to see Rylen jog into the room, her bag in hand. “Help me get this off him,” she said and Rylen set the satchel down, gripped Cullen’s shoulders, and pushed him up to a half sit so Wren to unfasten the buckles. It came free and then they wrestled him out of his cloak and gloves and stripped him down to trousers and tunic. “Where is Mathari?” she asked, still trying to catch her breath.

“The lass said she isn’t coming.” 

Wren blinked. “What?” Rylen shrugged and gave her an apologetic look. “Oh. Well. I’ll need a basin of water and some rags and…” she eyed her bag and then looked up at Rylen. “I know you have no reason to trust me,” she said pursing her lips.

“I’ve got no reason not to trust you, Wren, tell me what you need. I know you’re good with medicines.”

“How do you know that?” she asked with a shake of her head as she tugged open her leather bag.

“Cullen talked about you in Kirkwall. Didn’t realize it was you, not till I saw the boy, realized you two had a past. He didn’t talk often, but I may have gotten him sloshed on his birthday and you were all he talked about.”

Wren felt her cheeks flame hot. “Oh,” she breathed. “Hand me a piece of paper,” she gestured to Cullen’s desk. “I’ll make a list of what I’ll need.” 

Rylen grabbed a stack of papers and a quill and Wren thumbed through them, found one that was mostly blank, though the words caught her attention.

_Mia, Mia, Mia, was she there? Did you see her? Did she actually come to see you? Was it really just to return the ring? Why did she leave me?_

Wren swallowed hard and she felt like her heart was in her throat. She ripped off the blank half and quickly scrawled out a list for Rylen. Then he was gone and even though she knew she shouldn’t, Wren flipped through the papers, eyes darting over the words. It was a stack of unfinished letters to Mia. 

_I lost your letter_

_Did you write to tell me she was there?_

_Did she look alright when you saw her?_

_She doesn’t eat enough._

_Why did she leave?_

_You’d be ashamed of me. I imagine you’d box my ears for how I’ve treated her._

_My heart hurts._

Tossing the papers aside she realized there were tears rolling down her cheeks. “Stupid Templar,” she rasped. “You stupid, stupid-”

A sound at the door had her looking up. A scout she didn’t recognize was there, holding a basin of water, and several rags draped over his shoulder. “The Knight-Captain asked me to bring this in?” 

“Yes,” Wren shook herself. “Yes, please, right here,” she gestured to the floor by where she knelt. She took the rags and dunked one into the water. It was cold. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No, that is all, Rylen should be fetching the rest.” Then the scout was gone and Wren rung out the rag and gently pressed it against his forehead. Cullen made a sound, twisted his head as if to escape from the compress. “No, shh, don’t do that, it’ll help,” she murmured. “Just be still, sweetheart.” She reached up and slide her fingers into his hair, stroking it. “Shh,” she murmured again. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you.” 

It wasn’t long before Rylen returned, with two other soldiers recruited to help him carry the supplies. “Ah, perfect, no, just set it on the floor here,” she pointed to the empty space beside her when they would have set up a small folding table. She wouldn’t be able to get up and back down repeatedly.

“What else can I get you?” Rylen crouched beside her and Wren shook her head.

“Nothing, this is all I need, thank you.” She found herself falling into that old rhythm that was so familiar. It had been so long. Wren’s fingers danced over the small labeled bottles and jars and then she stopped and looked up at Rylen who was still watching her. “Thank you, I mean it. I…” 

Rylen reached out and caught her hand in his. “If you need anything, I’ll be just outside, alright? Just call my name, I won’t be far.” 

Then he was gone and she was alone again with Cullen. She dunked the rag in the water again, squeezed out the excess water, and then pressed it to his forehead once more. He winced, shrinking away. “Stop that,” she chided gently. “Don’t be a baby,” her words were a quiet whisper and her throat had gone tight again. Wren traced her fingertips down his cheek, felt the scrape of his stubble on his jaw. Then she forced herself to shift back, to turn to the small cauldron.

It had been so long since she’d made anything like this. She rarely even made the simple tonics, but it all came back to her as if she’d never stopped. Wren poured her energy into the tinctures. One to help with the fever and the one that she hoped would help with the withdrawal. She’d never helped any of the Templars before, had no experience with lyrium. But she willed it to work. 

Time passed, it felt like hours. She checked Cullen’s compress, soothed him as he sunk into the nightmares as the fever persisted. At some point, Rylen returned, dragged the chair over, and ordered her to sit in it. She ignored him. Eventually, he came back, this time with a thick blanket folded several times that nudged underneath where she knelt before leaving again. 

Wren fed Cullen the tonic for the fever drop by drop, past chapped lips. “That’s it, just a little more.” After, she thought about retreating to the chair. Her knees ached, and the pain that ricocheted out from the small of her back if she shifted her weight just a bit too much to one side nearly brought her to tears more than once. 

“Wren,” Cullen’s voice was a rasp and she looked at him. “Wren-” he said her name again, this time, sounding almost frantic. “Wren-where… where are you? I can’t- Wren!” it was a hoarse shout.

“Shhh,” Wren caught one of his flailing hands and gripped it tightly, her other hand pressed against his cheek. “I’m here, shhh, love, I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Wren.” 

“I’m here, Cullen, I’m here.” She lifted his hand to her own and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it while continuing to stroke his cheek. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m here.” Tears filled her eyes. It didn’t mean anything, she tried to tell herself. He likely wouldn’t remember the fever dreams when he woke. Wren leaned down, their clasped hands clutched to her chest, she brushed her cheek against Cullen’s. “I’ll take care of you,” she whispered against his ear.

“Wren,” it was a tired whisper and she jerked back slightly, his eyes were still closed, his face turned toward hers. She watched his features relax and soften, and Wren hoped that meant the tonic for the fever was working.

“I’m here, I’m right here,” Wren murmured and the hand she held tightened on hers. She should pull away, she knew that. There was a perfectly good chair just a foot away she could sit in and still be able to watch over him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking in all the little details of his face so close him. The small wrinkles around his eyes, the thin strands of silver at his temples that blended in so well with his light blonde hair she’d have never noticed them. “I’m so sorry, Cullen. We never should have left Kirkwall. I’m sorry I haven’t told you the truth. I’m sorry that you and Jules missed out on all this time together.” Her free hand slid up and stroked through his curls.

“I used to imagine what it would have been like. For us to be a proper family. Even after… and up until I got here, it was this fantasy, this dream that got me through the worst nights. The house never mattered, it always changed depending on where Mathari and I were. What the weather was like. But it was always us. You and me. Mathari and Jules and other children.” Tears filled her eyes and she rested her cheek against his chest, where she could hear his breathing, the steady beating of his heart.

“I thought we’d have a whole house full of children. And we’d all be happy. But your place is here, it’s with the Inquisition. This is where you were supposed to be. Maybe it was the gods who conspired to separate us. Maybe Mythal knew what we didn’t. That war was coming and you needed to lead the army against it.”

Wren’s eyes fluttered shut. “Your place is by her side, the Inquisitor. She’s strong and able and that is where you were supposed to be all along.” A tear leaked from between closed lids and she felt it slide down to soak into Cullen’s shirt. “Besides, how could you ever forgive me for all the things I’ve done? You’ll give Jules a proper family. The one he should have had all along.” 

Wren woke with a start, to bright sun filtering in through the ceiling and the partially open door. And voices. “Inquisitor!” it was loud and she blinked, shaking her head trying to orient herself. Her entire body hurt. Why did she hurt? She sat up abruptly and nearly cried out. Cullen’s free hand was tangled in her hair and he held their clasped hands to his chest. “You’re back early,” the voice from outside came again and Wren looked toward the door. It was Rylen.

And the Inquisitor. 

Panic flooded her veins. How would she explain being half sprawled over Cullen’s chest? A blanket she had no memory of pulling around her shoulders puddled around her knees as she tugged at her hair, ignoring the pinpricks of pain as strands so tangled around his fingers pulled free from her head. “Let go,” she rasped.

“The situation was not quite what we’d anticipated,” Hannah’s voice was right outside the door.

“Oh?”

Wren tugged at her hand, trying to untangle their fingers, but Cullen let out a quiet groan and tightened his hold. “Damn it, Cullen, let go,” she pleaded, trying again, but he wasn’t relenting. “Oh, this is for your own good,” she leaned down and sunk her teeth into the back of his hand. He grunted, jerked and her hand was free. Now she only had to get into the chair. 

Her legs were asleep. Completely numb and when she twisted, pain spiraled up her spine and she saw spots. “Shit.” Sweat broke out on her forehead as she scrambled, reaching back for the chair, and struggled to pull herself into it. The conversation on the other side of the door was nothing but background noise as she used all her strength to lift herself up into the chair.

The door opened and Wren held her breath, blinking several times as the bright light backlit the figures in the door frame. Lifting a hand to shield her eyes she squinted. “Whose there?” she asked, her voice raspy and she prayed that the Inquisitor would think her breathlessness just from being startled awake.

“Oh,” a beat of silence. “Wren. What’s-”

“The Lyrium withdrawal,” Rylen interjected. “Cullen had a terrible fever, and the lass here had a tonic that helped.”

The silence dragged out and Wren wished she could get up and flee, but she was certain her legs wouldn’t even be strong enough to stand right then. “The fever broke,” she said, instead, and then cursed having had the cauldron set up on the floor because she could have at least made herself look busy with that. “I’ve made another tonic, that might help with the general withdrawal symptoms,” she said and leaned forward to pluck the bottle off the floor. “At least it’s helped with other withdrawal, I’m not sure it will work with Lyrium.”

“You sat with him,” Hannah said, crossing over to stand by the couch, near his head. “All night?”

“Rylen was in and out,” she waved a hand toward the man who shot her an apologetic look and then disappeared out the door.

“How were the nightmares?” Hannah asked.

“No worse than the ones he had back in Kirkwall.” Wren felt guilty for saying it. For practically waving it in the other woman’s face that they had been together. “He… he was calling your name.” A small lie to make up for it. Wren looked away, saw her cane propped against the arm of the chair.

“Did he?”

Wren made a quiet sound of agreement, then willed her body to cooperate as she pushed up to her feet. Gratefully her knees didn’t automatically give out, but she felt shakey.

“That’s funny,” Hannah continued, and Wren was almost to the door. “Because usually, it’s your name he calls in his sleep.”

It was as if the air had been sucked from her lungs. She couldn’t reply. Locking her knees she braced her hand against the door frame and mentally blamed the tears in her eyes on the sun reflecting off the pale stone walls. 


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, I keep forgetting to share my attempted sketch of Jules (honestly is kind of horrifying) [Here](https://meraadwrites.tumblr.com/post/616037476958650368/really-quick-attempted-sketch-of-jules-drawing-is)

Wren came to a stop at the top of the stairs and just stood there, staring down the stone steps. She couldn’t do it, she knew she wouldn’t be able to make it down the stairs and frustrated tears stung her eyes. Silently, she cursed her body. Utterly useless. One hand braced on the stone wall, she set her cane on the next step and shifted her weight, trying to decide which leg would be strongest.

Then a figure appeared at her side. Wren turned her head and Rylen stood there, wordlessly offering her his arm. She took it and their progress down the stairs was slow, but she was only slightly winded by the time they reached the bottom. He was quiet as they walked and Wren was grateful for it. No probing questions. But then again, in the short time they’d known each other, Rylen had been inquisitive, but not overtly. 

As they reached the gardens he finally spoke. “You really think that tonic will help with the lyrium withdrawal?” 

Wren shook her head a little. “I don’t know. I’ve used it before, for people addicted to things like black lotus or willows bark., but I have no experience with lyrium. I don’t know if it will help at all. I might have to alter it, but I don’t know.”

“But you’ll try?”

“If Cullen is willing to be my test subject, if he’s not, then there is nothing I can do.”

Rylen stopped walking and Wren looked at him. “He isn’t the only Templar here.”

It took several seconds for his words to register. “You’ve quit the lyrium?” She still held his arm and found her fingers digging into it harder.

“Not yet,” he told her. “I can’t. Not yet, Cullen doesn’t believe he’s strong enough. I am his second, and if something happens, I have to be able to take his place.” Rylen’s free hand reached out to rest against her waist. A soft warm pressure. “But I’ve cut back, been taking less and the are others, others who no longer want to have to rely on the lyrium that will one day drive us all mad.”

She hated templars. She’d hated them for so long. But these men that she’d met at Skyhold, they were different.

“Can you help us, lass? Help gives us a future beyond madness and addiction.” Wren opened her mouth and then closed it. Overwhelmed by the very idea of it. Making her tonics in Kirkwall had been one thing. But this was completely different. He leaned in, and with his lips nearly against her ear. “Just consider it, Wren. I want more than what my current commitment has to offer.” 

Rylen drew back and they continued along the walkway around the garden to her apartment door. She felt unsteady and was exhausted, mentally, and physically. “You going to be alright?” he asked as she pushed open the door and reached up to curl her hand around the doorframe.

“Sure, I’ll be fine. Mathari is here,” and she would at least keep Jules entertained.

“You’re sure?” he hesitated and Wren smiled. 

She reached out and patted his cheek. “I’m sure,” she told him. “Thank you for walking me, I really appreciate it.” 

Rylen covered her hand with his and pressed a kiss to her palm. Which seemed to send delighted bolts of pleasure right up her arm and straight into her chest. “Think about what I said, and get some rest.” Then he turned her hand and kissed her knuckles. Wren stood in the doorway and watched him walk away before turning and stepping inside. She managed three steps before her knees buckled.

Wren let out a quiet grunt as her knees hit the floor sending shockwaves of pain through her body, then thrust her hands out to catch herself. “Shit,” she breathed and closed her eyes against the burn of tears. She was just grateful she hadn’t collapsed in the middle of the training field. 

“Wren?” Quiet footsteps hurrying down the hall. “Oh, Elgar’nan are you- “

Wren could see Mathari from the corner of her eye reaching out. “Don’t.” She lifted a hand to ward her off. “Just don’t.” The hands Mathari had been reaching out fell back down to her sides and she just stood there. Wren shook her head. “You’ve made it clear exactly how you feel about me. I’m the villain in your life’s story. So just... don't.” Wren hung her head and focused on breathing and ignoring the throbbing pain. “Cullen is making arrangements for you to stay someplace else.” 

“You’re… you’re kicking me out?”

“I’m giving you what you’ve wanted for years. An escape from me. I should have just walked into the woods like Lanasa did when I was your age. I imagine you would have found your way back to Kirkwall and you would have had Cullen.”

“You can’t do this.” Mathari’s voice was quiet and a little rasp. “Who is going to watch Jules when you- when you-”

“When I go whore myself out?” Wren finished for her with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about it. You can still see him whenever you’d like. So long as your hate for me continues to be separate from him.”

Mathari made a quiet sound, and then quick footsteps and the door opened then closed again. Wren sighed hanging her head. She was so tired. Wren was almost to the couch when she heard footsteps running down the hallway. “Mama?”

“Hey, baby,” Wren lifted her head and forced a smile onto her face for her son.

He was frowning at her. “You hurt?” he moved closer, tiny arms wrapping around one of her own, as if he could help her up.

“I’m okay,” she lied with a smile for him. “Just sore.” It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. There had been days at a time when she’d been unable to even sit up. “You hungry?” 

He was still frowning, tiny furrows on his little brow. “Yeah.” 

Wren reached out and brushed her knuckles along his brow, then tickled his neck making him giggle. “Do me a favor and drag two chairs into the kitchen, we’ll make something to eat together.” At that his face lit up and he ran into the small dining room and grabbed a chair, the scrape of it on the wood floor was loud as he dragged it into the kitchen space and shoved it up against the counter. He repeated the task with the other chair while Wren crawled into the kitchen to join him. “You’ll have to grab everything for me, alright?”

Jules nodded eagerly and Wren pulled herself up to kneel on one of the chairs. “Go wash your hands first,” she ordered and heard him run down the hall. Leaning forward to brace her elbows on the counter she closed her eyes, and willed the pain away and wished she had something, anything to take that would help. But all of that had run out long ago. She washed her own hands in the kitchen sink and then Jules was back and she told him what to gather. 

Once they had everything they needed, he scrambled up onto the chair beside her and they set to work on making breakfast. “I saw that,” Wren chided gently as Jules shoved yet another berry into his mouth while she spooned the batter into the hot pan. Jules giggled and grabbed another and offered it to her. Wren leaned down, ate the berry, then pretended to go after his fingers, making him shriek with laughter.

A knock sounded at the door and Wren frowned and mentally cursed. “Who is it?” she called.

There was a beat of silence. “It’s Rylen.” She heard his familiar voice. Brow furrowing she called for him to come in. He glanced around as he walked inside and then smiled when he saw her. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said coming into the kitchen to stand on the other side of the counter.

“It’s okay,” Wren said.

“We maked pancakes!” Jules informed him. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Rylen, a friend of your mom’s, you must be Jules.” 

“Uh-huh.” Jules nodded. “I have a halla, wanna see?”

“Oh yeah?” Rylen looked around, as if searching for it. “How’d you fit it through the door?”

Jules laughed as he scrambled down from the chair. “Not a real halla, silly,” then he ran down the hall. Rylen was still grinning as he met Wren’s gaze.

“What brought you back?” she asked curiously. 

“I saw Mathari out on the ramparts, and I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You’re exhausted. You barely slept last night.” 

Wren waved off the comment. “As if you did. You were outside the door the entire night.” 

“I slept more than you did. How is your back?” he glanced at the chair she was kneeling on. 

The stampede of tiny footsteps came running back down the hall. “Do not run with that!” Wren hollered, having horrifying visions of him tripping and impaling himself on the horns. There was a thump and she watched as he skidded on his knees at the end of the hall, grinning. 

“Sorry, mama.” Then Jules jumped up and ran to the counter, holding up the wooden carving. “Lookit!” Rylen disappeared from view as he crouched down and her heart fluttered listening to the two of them discussing the halla. “It still needs a name,” Jules informed him and Rylen made a sound of agreement. Wren finished frying up the pancakes put them on the plate.

“Breakfast is ready,” she said and a tiny hand appeared with the halla, setting it on the counter. Then Jules came around to grab the chair he’d been using to stand on and began dragging it back to the table.

“You stay?” Jules asked Rylen as he came back to grab the halla and set it on the table.

Rylen glanced at Wren with raised brows. “If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to, but don’t feel obligated.”

“I’d love to,” he told her.

Then Jules was back at Wren’s side. “Chair, mama,” he said wrapping a hand around the back of it, ready to drag it back to the table. She felt the blood drain from her face. Because she knew she couldn’t walk that far and the idea of crawling on her hands and knees in front of Rylen was mortifying.

“No, Jules, it’s alright, I’ll stay here.”

“Mama.” He scowled at her and put his hands on his hips and she blinked at the burning she felt sting the backs of her eyes.

“Jules,” she said quietly.

Rylen reached out and ruffled Julian’s hair. “You go sit down, I’ll take care of it,” he said as he came around to stand beside her. Rylen offered her his arm and she shook her head, angry, but not at him, at her own body, at her pride. He hesitated a moment and then slipped his arm around her waist. “Lean on me, lass,” he said softly. His eyes were full of understanding and she wondered just how much Cullen had told him about her. 

Relenting, she slid her arm around his shoulders and her feet barely touched the ground as they made their way around the counter and to the table. He helped her sink into one of the chairs before returning to grab the other one. Then he was seated across from her. 

They ate, and Jules commanded the conversation, asking Rylen questions about where he came from and his tattoos and his opinion on bog unicorns and spiders. It delighted her as it broke her heart. Jules had never had a father figure, there had been no men around them until coming to Skyhold. It should have been Cullen sitting at the table with them. 

“I think you have more berries on your face than made it into your mouth,” Rylen said and Jules grinned broadly, showing off red-stained teeth. 

Wren laughed and swatted at him lightly with her napkin. “That is disgusting, go and wash up,” she jerked her chin. Jules leaped down from his seat and ran down the hall. “Brush your teeth too!” she shouted. “So?” she raised her brows at Rylen.

“I went and spoke with Apothecary Adan. Asked him about your tonics, he’s unfamiliar with them, was very interested. Then I spoke with Lady Montilyet.”

Wren pushed her plate out of the way and rested her elbows on the table and then leaned her head against her hand. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Rylen.”

“There is a space here in the garden, they’ve been using it for storage, its that one over there,” he waved a hand vaguely. “Has a big window in the front. Lady Montilyet says we can turn it into a space for you.”

She was shaking her head. “Why? If it’s just this tonic that I don’t even think will work for the lyrium withdrawal, I can do it here. If it’s just you and Cullen, I don’t need a space to do that.” 

Rylen reached across the table, covering her hand with his own. “It isn’t just me and Cullen, lass. I told you, there are other templars who want what Cullen has. But just stopping the lyrium has the potential to kill them. So we take it and feed the addiction and make it worse. And it isn’t just that tonic, there was the one you gave Cullen for the fever. Adan had never thought to mix whatever it was you mixed together for that. He wants to pick your mind about it all.” 

Wren was shaking her head again, but not in refusal, but because she was baffled by how much he’d done in such a short time.

“And you’ll be compensated, of course, for your time and supplies. The Inquisition pays well. Especially if it benefits its soldiers.”

Withdrawing her hand she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “You speak with Cullen about this?” The two must be conspiring together to get her out of the brothel.

Rylen frowned and shook his head a little. “No, he was still asleep when I went up to gather your things from his office. But I can’t imagine him having a problem with it. And if he does, well, that’s his problem. Lady Montilyet already agreed it was an excellent idea.”

Cullen’s head was pounding as if someone were hammering away from the inside trying to get out. He reached up and rubbed a hand over his face, wincing at the light shining down from the hole in the ceiling. “There’s a mug of water on the floor by the couch.” Turning his head he squinted and saw Hannah sitting at his desk.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice coming out a croak as he sat up and grabbed blindly for the mug. “I mean… how long was I out? You were in Val Royeux.”

“We just got back today,” she told him and her voice was too loud.

Cullen lifted the mug and drained half of it before leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, mug clutched between his hands. He frowned noticing a mark on the back of his hand. Were those teeth marks?

“It actually wasn’t a very long spell, Rylen brought you up last evening.” 

Making a quiet sound, acknowledging her words, he mentally ran through how he felt. And the truth was, not terrible. His head ached, and he was sore, but part of him wondered how much of that was from sleeping on the couch which was terribly uncomfortable. 

“Wren sat with you. All night. Brewed up some tonics apparently while she watched over you.” Hannah tilted her head to the small table that sat by the arm of the couch. “That one she says is for addiction. She doesn’t know if it’ll work for the lyrium, but…” she trailed off and Cullen reached out to wrap his hand around the bottle. There was a small paper tag attached with instructions written in her familiar handwriting. “You’d forgive her anything, wouldn’t you?” 

Cullen flinched at the quiet words and jerked his head up to look at her. She was watching him with the saddest expression on her face. “What are you talking about?”

“You love her and it doesn’t matter that she left. That you missed out on four years with Jules. The reason doesn’t matter to you at all, does it? Because you’d forgive her anything. You don’t care how many men she’s slept with or even that one was your best friend.” 

“Hannah,” Cullen reached up to rub his eyes. What could he say to that? How was he supposed to respond?

“I was just… wondering what it would be like.” He looked at her and her gaze had shifted down to the desk. “What would it be like to have someone love  _ me  _ like that?” She pushed the chair back and stood. “I’m leaving for the Emerald Graves in the morning, we’ll likely be gone at least a few months.” Hannah reached up and ran a hand through her hair as she headed for the door. “I’d ask you to come see me tonight, but I know you won’t. Maker, you didn’t even come when I was in your bed before I left for Val Royeux.” 

Cullen watched her leave and the guilt was a heavy weight in his belly. He was hurting Hannah and it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t fair to her. Pushing up to his feet, he felt a little unsteady as he walked over to his desk and saw what she’d been looking at so intently. His unfinished letters to Mia. “Shit,” he breathed and wondered how everything had gotten so complicated.


	51. Chapter 51

Mathari paced the garden for several long minutes before finally storming away. Wren didn’t want her around anymore. Well, of course, she didn’t. Why would she? But Mathari hadn’t expected she’d throw her out. She’d been trying. Most of her days she spent with Cole, as much as he’d creeped her out at first, he’d helped. And for the first time, she’d been able to tell someone what had happened and he reassured her it wasn’t her fault. 

What she liked most about spending time with Cole was that no one else seemed to notice her. They had spent an entire day perched on the ledge of the battlements and every soldier and scout who had looked their way seemed to look through them. But now she couldn’t find Cole. She made her way along the battlements with quick steps and her head ducked down and she knew they saw her, they looked at her, but no one approached her, no one said anything other than ‘good morning’ and she was grateful. 

But when Mathari reached Cullen’s office, because she had to know what had happened last night. Her refusal when that Templar had shown up had been petty. Wren and Cullen wouldn’t talk and Cullen was angry and Wren was a coward. 

_And what would that make you?_ She thought bitterly as she looked through the open door. Cullen was asleep on the couch, a blanket sat folded up on the floor beside it. Wren had been there, she’d sat with him. Of course, she had. But then Mathari noticed the Inquisitor sitting at Cullen’s desk with her head bowed and she pursed her lips. 

Wren was hurting and it was bad, Mathari knew. She couldn’t remember the last time Wren had taken a tonic for the pain. Rubbing her palms against her trousers she knew that the small purple flowers from the leatherleaf ivy were all that Wren could take and it would be expensive. Stomach twisting into a knot she glanced out toward the village. Bile burned her throat as she tried not to think about her decision.

But, she needed the money. 

One small step toward earning Wren’s forgiveness.

Mathari ignored the shaking of her hands and hurried down the stairs and out the front gate of Skyhold. Her breathing was jagged as she walked with quick steps down the main street. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she saw the building. Half-naked men and women hanging out the windows? Loud noises coming from inside that gave way to what happened in there? But it was just a house. A big one, but, still, just a house.

Cautiously, with trembling fingers, she pushed open the door. How many times had Wren done this for her over the years? It was time she paid her back.

  
  
  


Wren didn’t want to open her eyes. She hurt. Her back ached and now that she was awake it seemed to pulse with renewed vigor. After breakfast, Rylen had insisted on sticking around to keep an eye on Jules so she could rest and Wren hadn’t had the strength to argue. So he helped her to the couch and she fell asleep to their quiet voices. She couldn’t hear them now, but from the sweet scent of flowers, she knew the front door must be thrown open wide. Distantly, she heard Jules giggle and in spite of the pain, she smiled. 

She’d never be able to repay Rylen for this. 

Reluctantly, Wren cracked open one eye, then the other, and blinked. Frowning deeply as she stared at what sat on the short table in front of the couch. A small teapot raised above a candle using the wire contraption she used to suspend her cauldron the same way. Beside it, a teacup. And then next to that was a vial about the size of her thumb filled with pale purple powder. 

Wren found it hard to breathe as she stared at it. _Cullen_ , she thought. A thank you maybe for looking after him last night? It was an effort to sit up and sweat trickled down her spine as she eyed the vial and the cup. How much? She’d always been so careful to ration it since it was so expensive and hard to come by. Then it had been years since she’d taken anything. Cup clutched in one hand, vial in the other she made the choice. One day. She wanted one day where she didn’t hurt. So she poured more than she normally would into the teacup, recorked the vial and poured in the water. 

The relief was a tangible thing. Her tongue burned and she felt it scorch down her throat to settle warm in her belly. Then Wren sat there, just breathing, listening to the noise from the garden drifting through the open door. The unintelligible conversation of Rylen and Jules who must not be far. Shifting forward, the constant ache had lessened to a dull throb. Her cane rested against the other end of the couch and she curled her hand around it and wondered if it was too much to hope. Tucking the vial into her pocket she pushed up to her feet.

Her legs were unsteady, and she curled her fingers tighter around the head of the cane, one finger slipping between the open jaws of the lion, and she held it tighter, using that slight prick of pain as a distraction. Her muscles were stiff and she longed for a massage with her old salve. A hot bath where she could soak for hours. A nice fantasy, she thought shuffling toward the door. Wren braced her hand against the frame and saw the duo sitting on the grass, between them they had created a small village of sticks and stones. 

Rylen lifted his head, saw her and his muscles tensed as if he were going to jump up and help her, but Wren waved him off. “It’s alright, I’ve got it,” she reassured him and she was glad there was a bench so close. 

“Lookit, mama, we maked a Skyhold! And there’s a stable for my halla!” 

Wren grinned as she sunk heavily onto the bench and peered down. “I see that,” she laughed quietly. The proportions of the village to stables were not even close. “I love it, looks like your halla loves it too.” Then she looked at Rylen and smiled at him, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’. Because this man had made her son happy and that was all that she wanted in the world was for Jules to be happy. “Was Cullen here?” she asked and he shook his head.

“No, he was still asleep when I went and gathered your things from his office. Haven’t seen him.” 

“Then who-?” she reached into her pocket and withdrew the vial. “Where did this come from?”

“Oh, the lass brought it by. Mathari.” 

Wren opened her mouth, then snapped it shut as she stared at the powder. “Where… where did she get it? Where did she get the money for this? Oh, Elgar’nan.” Would she have stolen it? Maybe she’d taken Wren’s own coin? 

Rylen shook his head a little, confusion clear on his features. “What are you talking about?” 

“This is… this is expensive. It’s the only thing I can take for the pain that doesn’t… it’s the only thing and it has always been hard to come by and when I could it was-”

The corner of his lips twisted up into a slight smile. “Lass, that stuff grows like weeds around here.” 

Wren blinked, his words not registering. “What?”

“It’s everywhere,” he inclined his head to where she sat and Wren looked around, then realized that beneath the bench she sat on, were the dense creeping vines with the small purple flowers.

Still, she couldn’t quite comprehend it. There was so much of it. Those little flowers, dried and crushed just from that one plant beneath the bench could last her a month. No, longer. She didn’t realize she was crying until Jules scrambled to his feet, Ari-doll in hand held out to her. “Mama, don’ cry.”

“Oh,” she quickly wiped at her cheeks, and then she laughed. “Oh… these… these are good tears,” she reassured him, and then leaned forward and kissed Jules’ forehead. She felt an odd sense of relief and hope that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

“What do you mean no?” Mathari stared down at the woman who stood behind the counter, hands on her hips. “You can’t- you don’t understand. I need the money. I need-” Her voice broke. 

“Poppet,” the woman said. “This isn’t the place for you.” There was sympathy in her gaze but Mathari didn’t care. She didn’t want this woman’s pity. 

“But I need medicine and I don’t have any money. Please, I am begging you, I can do it, I can-” but the woman just shook her head.

“I’ve been in this line of work a long time, poppet. I can tell when someone can handle this job, and the ones who can’t, and I can see it in your eyes. This would destroy you.”

Mathari clenched her teeth together. “Shut up,” she hissed. “You don’t know me.” And so what if she was right? She had to do something.

“Go and talk to Adan if you need this medicine. Skyhold takes care of their own, I’m sure he can help you. But now, you need to get out of here.” She pointed to the door and Mathari just stared at her. The order was polite but undeniable.

Angrily she stormed out the door, slamming it behind her. Would Adan help her? Had Cullen told him about her? He’d said he would. But then Cullen was supposedly finding her a new place to stay, so maybe he’d changed his mind. It didn’t take long to track down the apothecary and grumpy was an understatement. “What?” he groused the second she stepped through the door.

“I need some leatherleaf ivy,” she said, and he opened his mouth and Mathari knew he’d refuse her. “Please, I don’t have any money, but I can work. I know my way around some medicines, I studied with the healer in Kirkwall for a time and I’ve been taught by someone who knows a lot and helped a lot of people. I can work for it. I know it’s expensive but it’s the only thing she can take and she’s in so much pain right now. I’ll scrub pots or the floors or I can gather whatever ingredients you might need. Please, I’ll do anything.” The words spilled out in a desperate rush. 

Adan stared at her, brows arched. “You done?”

“Cullen can vouch for me,” she continued. “I promise, I’ll do anything you need. I just need a little bit.” 

Arms over his chest, he leaned his hip against his table. “Now, are you done?”

Curling her hands into fists at her back Mathari nodded and waited for the refusal. “I’ll pay you to go gather that damned ivy. Pull it up from its roots. It grows wild around here and overtakes damn near every other plant around it.”

Mathari jerked her head up in surprise. “What?” He just looked at her, waiting. “I can do that. I will. But...do you have any dried? She takes it with hot water and it’s the only thing she can take, but it has to be the dried flowers.” But did it though? Could fresh ones work? Mathari had no idea. Adan turned away, she heard the clanking of glass and tapping of metal and then he turned back and tossed her a small vial, filled to the brim with the familiar purple powder. “Thank you,” her voice wavered.

Cullen sat at his desk. His head still hurt, but he wondered how much of it was from the withdrawal episode, and how much was simply stress. 

_You’d forgive her anything, wouldn’t you?_

Hannah’s words echoed in his mind. A taunting mantra. Would he though? And sure Wren had been with Rylen, and while he didn’t like to imagine it, didn’t want to picture her with someone else, he couldn’t judge her for it. 

_You love her and it doesn’t matter that she left._

There was a reason for it. He knew there had to be. What had happened? What had driven her and Mathari away from him? Drawing in a deep breath he eyed the half-written letters to Mia, tossed them in the bin and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and his quill, and set to writing to his sister. 

By the time the letter was complete, his head ached even more. Cullen rubbed his temples and closed his eyes as he considered finding Wren. To thank her for looking after him, and maybe to ask if she had anything to help the pounding in his skull. 

“Cullen?” the voice was quiet, and there was a soft knock on the door frame. Mentally, he groaned, but lifted his head and saw Mathari standing there.

“Mathari,” he hadn’t seen her in days. “Where have you been? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine, I just… I wanted to tell you I’m going with them when they leave for the Dales tomorrow.” She walked into the room and stood on the other side of his desk.

Cullen raked his hands through his hair and stared at her. “What are you talking about? Why?”

“Wren mentioned that you’re finding me a new place to stay, I just thought that maybe … maybe some time away would be good for me. And Cole-” she broke off, teeth sinking into her lower lip. “He’s helping. He helps when the anger wants to swallow me.”

“Have you told her you’re leaving?”

“No, and I’m only telling you because the Inquisitor said I had to. I reminded her that I’m an adult, and you’re not my keeper, but then Cole reminded me that it’s not fair to make the people you love worry.” 

Cullen looked at her and it broke his heart that she wasn’t the girl he’d known back in Kirkwall. “If you think it will help, then of course. But promise you’ll be careful. It is dangerous out there.”

“I will,” she said with a nod. “But you’ll have to help Wren. She works at night and that’s when I watch Jules. And her back… it was bad today. But I found out that flower, it grows like crazy around here so that’s good. I took her some, so I hope that helps.”

Dragging a hand over his jaw, Cullen stood up and walked around the desk to pull her into a hug. “I’ll watch out for her,” he promised, smoothing a hand down the back of her head as she wrapped her arms around his middle.

“There’s one more thing,” she said, drawing back to look up at him. 

“What’s that?”

“You still love her, right? Wren. You love her.” 

Cullen was taken aback, he stepped backward, away from Mathari, and shook his head. What was it with these women in his life demanding he think about it? “It isn’t that simple, Mathari.” He paced away from her, hands in his hair again.

Mathari rested her hands on her hips as she looked at him. “Yes, it is. Yes, or no. Do you love her?”

“Mathari,” he sighed her name.

“I don’t remember my father. He passed away from a fever before Tamcen was born. So what I remember of him are shadows. It was always just mamae and us. So I never saw what it was like to be in love. Until you and Wren. What the two of you had, was what I dreamed of having one day. She cries, every night when she thinks I can't hear her. She has since we left Jader.” 

Cullen’s heart constricted in his chest painfully. “Why did you leave?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“We thought you were dead.”


	52. Chapter 52

_ We thought you were dead. _

_ We thought you were dead _ .

Cullen sat on the couch, his elbows braced on his knees as he leaned forward, staring at the floor without seeing anything. Mathari sat beside him, her legs tucked up beneath her. “Alright, start from the beginning,” he said.

“The letters stopped. It was a few weeks I think without one. She went down to check, she annoyed the owners, I remember that,” Mathari said amusement in her voice. “Because she’d check every day. So she went down and then she didn’t come back, not for hours. The sun was beginning to go down. I waited, pacing, and worried but I was afraid to leave because she’d told me she didn’t want me wandering around alone. Then she opened the door and… the look on her face. I… I…” she sniffled, tears coming to her eyes just remembering that moment. “I knew something had happened. I clamped my hands over my ears as if I didn’t hear her, it wouldn’t be true.

“She explained later that there had been a letter, from Jaques, saying there was an altercation.” 

Cullen shook his head. “It’s impossible. Jaques would have been dead before that.”

“I know,” Mathari said quietly. “When you told me about that… I accused her of lying and making it all up. She didn’t, I know she didn’t. But someone wrote that letter. It broke her. We were heading for the Dales, going to try and make the trek through the Frostbacks, but, she was getting worse and I didn’t realize it at first. I didn’t know. But I woke up to her retching one morning and she told me she was with child. The babe kept her going. We realized we couldn’t make the journey to the Dales, so we ended up outside Redcliffe for a while.”

“I imagine I just missed the two of you. I went to Jader, tracked you some town a few days ride before Redcliffe. I continued on, but then went back to Kirkwall, hoping that you’d have found your way back there.” Shaking his head he stood up, pacing the room. “A letter. I wrote letters, but you never received them. Wren wrote letters, but I never saw them. Then someone wrote a letter to Wren telling her of my death.” Raking his hands through his hair in frustration. “Meredith, or one of her lackeys. It must have been. They must have…” Cullen trailed off as he searched his memories for any sort of sign.

Meredith calling him into her office, a malicious smile. He hadn’t thought anything of the papers burning in the fireplace. He’d been so caught up in his worry about the Right of Annulment. “How did you two find out I was here? That I was alive?”

“We went to Mia. Wren was going to return your ring and we were going to stay there. She’d said we’d stay. No more traveling, no more tents on the outskirts of town. She hoped that Jules would at least know your family. But when she came back Wren just said we had to get to Skyhold. Because you were here.” 

Cullen braced his hands on his desk, but couldn’t stand the stillness. He pushed away, paced again. 

“When we got here, she told me to wait, and then when she came back she told me I would stay, but she and Jules were leaving.”

He nodded his head a little. Felt the anger and self-loathing bubbling up inside of him. Wren had thought he was dead. She’d walked through that door and the first thing he’d done was shout at her. Pain exploded through his hand and he looked down at it in surprise, taking in the bloodied broken skin along his knuckles, then up at the stone wall that now bore a smear of blood. “Shit,” he breathed out then he frowned and looked at Mathari. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve been so angry with her. Whatever that is, it started long before you got here and found out Jaques had passed.” 

Mathari turned her head, looked out the open door, and shook her head a little. “I-I can’t. Something happened and, and she yelled at me, and I know that sounds stupid and petty, but Jules was two, he was napping but he woke up and he tripped, he fell and burned his hands in the coals.” She dashed a tear away from her cheek. “So she yelled at me.”

Cullen watched her, brows drawn together in concern. It didn’t make sense. “Why weren’t you there when he woke up?” She shook her head and refused to look at him. “Mathari, sweetheart,” he gentled his tone.

“No. If I tell you, then you’ll tell her and then she’ll forgive me for how I’ve treated her for the last two years and I don’t deserve it. The things I said to her, the things I called her? No, I can’t tell her until I’ve earned her forgiveness and maybe not even then.” He didn’t want to think about what would have made Mathari leave Jules. She adored the boy, that was clear. “So now you know, and now you two can work things out and it’ll go back to how it was before.” 

“Mathari,” he sighed and crossed back over to sit on the couch beside her. 

“You love her,” she insisted, her face twisting with consternation. “You love her and she loves you and you’re supposed to be a family.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Why? Because of the Inquisitor? Do you love her?” 

_ You’d forgive her anything. I wonder what it would be like to have someone love me like that. _ Her words were still there, in the back of his mind. “It isn’t that simple,” he repeated. “Even if- Wren and I can just pick up where we left off. It’s been five years, Mathari.”

“Five years of mourning you!” She exclaimed.

“And I spent that time mourning the both of you as well. Because I couldn’t fathom you two leaving, so I imagined you had to be dead. And I’ve tried to move on, with Hannah.” Though it had been ultimately pointless. Maybe he could have grown to love her. Maybe he still could. 

Mathari’s shoulders slumped and she just looked at him. “You don’t want to be with Wren anymore?” she asked, voice low. “You love her and you know the truth but… you still don’t want her?” She stood up, tears shining in her eyes as she took a step backward. “We were supposed to be a family. I thought that once we got here, and we found you everything would just… be okay.” 

“Mathari,” Cullen reached out to her but she turned and ran out the door leaving him staring after her. Everything had changed. Five years was a long time. Rubbing his hands over his face he stood and went to his desk. He loved Wren. Of course, he did. She was his first everything. Tugging open the center drawer he pulled out the small box and lifted to lid to look inside. Two rings. One with the twisting strands of silver, gold, and bronze, and the other a wider band of the oddly metallic wood. They couldn’t pick up where they’d left off. Things had changed and much like Mathari, Cullen needed to earn Wren’s forgiveness. 

Skyhold would be quieter for the next few months, with many of the soldiers and all of Hannah’s companions gone with her to the Dales. A few months where Mathari wouldn’t be around to help Wren. He’d be there. He’d help her. He’d convince her to speak with Adan and she could begin making her tonics again. He would make sure they had everything they needed. Jules. He’d make things right with him and get to know his son.

No, things couldn’t go back to how they had been. Too much had changed. But maybe they could work toward making them better.

Wren stood at the small dining room table that she, Rylen, and Jules had eaten breakfast at that morning. Most of her weight rested on the one knee she had on the chair. She was still stiff, and a hot bath was a hope for later in the evening. Maybe once Mathari returned, she would stay with Jules, and Wren could go soak. A smile pulled up the corner of her lips. 

The apartment was quiet, Jules napping in the bedroom, exhausted from his day with Rylen. And Rylen had been relentless with her too. Insisting she make lists of what she’d need and telling her they’d start tomorrow. He planned to recruit a few of the soldiers to clear out the space and then bring in everything she needed. Wren had been too happy to even put up a token protest. 

The tonic to help the Templars stop the lyrium gave her a purpose for the first time since leaving Kirkwall. Reaching out she ran her fingers over the wicker basket overflowing with ivy and its little purple flowers. A scout had arrived at her door an hour earlier with it and a small pot that the plant had been transplanted into. It was mindboggling. Years and years where she’d been unable to get it, and now she was surrounded by it. 

Her cauldron was full of the flowers, gently steeping them to see what would happen. If it was concentrated enough, would she still have to dry it and crush it into a powder? Or could she figure out some other purpose? Maybe mix it into the salve for her back. 

A quiet knock on the door tugged her from her thoughts and she looked up. “Come in,” she called softly and the door opened after a second.

Blackwall stepped in and he glanced around, met her gaze, and ducked his head. “Sorry to just show up like this,” he said, one hand rubbing against the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to intrude, I only-”

“Shh, Jules is napping, come here,” she beckoned him over and then went back to stirring the mix in the cauldron.

He crossed the room and came to stand near her, looking over the chaos that had become her table. “What’s all this?”

Wren looked at it, and up at him. “Hope,” she said with a laugh and then shook her head. “What brings you by?”

“We’re leaving for the Dales tomorrow.” Wren’s ears perked up at that.

“The Dales? I tried to get there once, Mathari and I. It didn’t work out so well,” she sighed a little wistfully and then shrugged. Wren had twisted her hair back into a haphazard braid, that had been coming loose since she’d done it and she watched Blackwall as he reached up, caught a curl, and slowly wound it around his finger. “How long will you be gone?”

“A few months?” he blinked, seeming to realize what he was doing, his cheeks went pink and he carefully extricated his finger. “At least two, possibly longer depending on what we run into out there. But I wanted to bring this before I left,” he reached into a leather pouch at his hip and pulled out a wooden horse.

Only it wasn’t just any horse. 

Blackwall held it up and Wren inspected the creature. It was a miniature version of the bog-rotting unicorn. Complete with the small sword jutting out of its head. “That is absolutely hideous,” Wren said in awe, reaching out to trace a finger over its head and down its back. “He’ll love it. Gods, Blackwall, you didn’t have to do this.”

He met her gaze and his grey eyes were so soft and full of warmth. “I wanted to. You said he liked the halla, and I saw how much he liked that horse down at the stables.” Wren felt like her heart was in her throat. She reached out, curled her fingers in his beard and tugged gently, drawing him closer. Words failed her at that moment, so she brushed her lips against his.

“Thank you,” she said against his mouth and it was an understatement. It didn’t encompass all the feelings that she had right then. Another man, going out of his way to make her son happy. And it only hurt a little that neither of them was his father. 

“There is something else,” he said and she could feel his breath on her lips, as they leaned toward each other a little awkwardly with the chair she knelt on between them. “When I come back, I was hoping, could I come see you? You should tell me no. I’m not a good man, Wren, but, I want to be. You make me want to be better. I wouldn’t be worthy of it, but after I get back from the Dales if I could see you. Not at the brothel, not for sex, though,” his cheeks seemed to go even redder. “I do enjoy that, my lady,” he said his voice going a bit lower, a bit rougher and Wren’s belly clenched. “Could I… court you?” 

She was so caught up in the sound of his voice she almost missed the question.  _ Could I court you? _ Wren opened her mouth and nothing came out.  _ Court me? _

“You don’t have to answer, just think about it. And maybe…” he trailed off shaking his head as he took a step back.

Reaching out without thinking about it first, she caught his wrist. He wanted to court her? It was laughable. It was touching.

“Mama!” Jules shouted from down the hall. “Thirsty!” 

The tension broke and Wren laughed, but she didn’t release her hold on Blackwall’s arm. “Then come and get a drink,” she called back.

“But mama!” he whined.

“Blackwall has a present for you,” she called back and there was a beat of silence, and then she heard the thump of him no doubt launching himself from the bed followed by the stampede of little feet. “How one child can run so loudly, I’ll never know. He sounds like an entire herd.” 

Sliding on his knees into the room Wren sighed. “Those are your new pants, could you not destroy them until you’ve had them at least a few weeks?” Jules flashed her a grin and jumped up and made a show of looking at the knees of his pants. That, sure enough, were already wearing thin.

“Hi, Mr. Black’all, sir!” Jules said, and held up his halla. “Mama says you maked it and I love it! Ry and I maked a stable out in the garden for it!” 

“Does that stable have room for another?” Blackwall asked and held out the bog unicorn. Jules’ eyes went wide, his mouth fell open and he looked from Wren to Blackwall and then back to the horse.

“It’s… it’s for me?” he asked.

“It is. Oh,” he reached into his pocket, “one more thing,” he pulled out a handful of small corks. One he shoved onto the end of the bog unicorn’s sword and then repeated the task for each of the halla’s horns before glancing at Wren with a smile.

“What do you say, Jules?” Wren said, her voice a little tight.  _ He wants to court me, and maybe I should let him _ . Would it make things easier with Cullen? Break the constant tension if she made it clear that she wouldn’t interfere with his relationship with Hannah? 

“Thank you!” Jules said, clutching both horses to his chest. “Mama, can I go out to the garden? I wanna show it the stable!” 

“Leave the door open and stay where I can see you,” she said and tightened her grip on Blackwall’s arm.

Blackwall clears his throat. “He seems to like it,” he said, looking flustered.

“Yes,” Wren said, shifting her weight on the chair until she could press her chest to his. Then she slid a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged his head down. “Come and see me when you get back,” she said and there was a moment’s hesitation, then Blackwall wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her.


	53. Chapter 53

Cullen was in a foul mood. He’d been unable to sleep most of the night, his mind racing over what he’d learned from Mathari. _They thought I was dead_. Wren had thought he was dead. She hadn’t left him. 

_ She cries when she thinks I can’t hear her.  _

So that meant there was hope, right? It wouldn’t be easy. Cullen knew he couldn’t just walk up to her, tell her he was still in love with her, he knew the truth, and have things simply work out. 

Cullen had spent much of the night thinking of what he wanted to do, how he wanted to fix matters. How he wanted to make Wren happy. But at some point, his mind had finally given up and he’d fallen asleep, exhausted from the previous night’s fever. He had every intention of ending things with Hannah. Perhaps it was unfair to do it just as she was leaving, but he couldn’t let things go on as they were, though he imagined she already knew. 

But he’d been so exhausted, he’d overslept, and by the time he woke the Inquisitor and company were already gone. His mood only soured when he’d realized that most of his clothing had ended up in Hannah’s quarters and he’d have to go and collect his things. Which would draw attention and people would talk. 

Needless to say, his mood was less than pleasant as he stepped through the doorway. 

Until he spotted Wren. She sat on a bench with her face tilted up toward the sun and a small smile curving up the corners of her lips. The image stole his breath and he simply stood there watching her. A familiar blue scarf held her hair back from her face, but it fell loose down her back. Most surprisingly, the way she wore the scarf left the small points of her ears visible. 

He felt his heart clench in his chest as he looked at her. She was there. Alive and breathing and safe. Maker, he’d missed her and he hadn’t realized quite how much until right then. Crossing the garden, Cullen spotted Jules sitting on the ground, playing with wooden horses. The boy looked up, spotted Cullen, and then looked back down. His heart clenched for a completely different reason. Did Jules hate him now? Had his outburst at Wren ruined everything? Would he be able to fix it?

Rocks crunched beneath his boots and Wren turned her head toward him opened her eyes and then held her hand up to shield them from the sun. “Oh, Cullen, how are you feeling?”

“Considerably better than I normally would be, and I hear it is thanks to you.” He gestured to the bench and she inclined her head. Cullen sat down beside her and turned his face to look at her. “I appreciate that you were willing to sit with me and look after me.”

“It was nothing,” Wren said dismissively, but Cullen shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t nothing. I’ve been an absolute ass to you since you arrived.”

“You apologized,” she reminded him.

“That doesn’t make it better. But I wanted to tell you that I am grateful. Both for you taking care of me when I was ill, and because you’re here.” He caught the look of startled surprise on her face as she looked at him. “I know I’ve been an ass, but you don’t have to look at me like that.” 

“No,” she smiled a little. “It isn’t that, it’s just that… I didn’t expect that you were all that happy I was here.”

“Five years, Wren,” he spoke quietly, “five years of not knowing. Not knowing what had happened to you, or where you’d gone. If you were safe or not. Five years of worrying. Of course, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad that you and Mathari here, that I have a son, and he’s here and he is safe, even if he does hate me now.” 

Wren made a quiet sound. “He doesn’t hate you, Cullen.” He shot her a dubious look. “He doesn’t. Give him time. It wouldn’t hurt if you could come around and spend time with him. You’re the first man that he really spent any time with, and after what happened at the stables… he’s just a little wary.” 

Cullen nodded a little, feeling a bit reassured by Wren’s words. “That is one of the things I had wanted to speak with you about. Spending time with Jules. With Mathari gone, I had thought that I could help out, watch Jules when you have things to do, and in the evenings when you-when you’re working.” But if his plans all came together, maybe she would no longer feel as if she had to spend her evenings in the brothel.

She twisted on the bench, turning to face him. “Mathari left?” Shock and hurt and disbelief flashed so quickly over her features. “What do you mean she left?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Cullen cursed and raked his hands through his hair and let his head fall back to stare up at the sky.  _ Maker, why? _ He thought bitterly.

“Do I need to remind you that Mathari blames me for literally everything wrong in her life? Honestly, I think she’d blame bad weather on me as well. Where did she go? What am I going to tell Jules?” She glanced at the boy still playing contentedly in the grass.

Cullen wasn’t sure what to tell her about Mathari’s feelings, and her need to make it up to Wren. “She went with the Inquisitor and the others to the Dales. They left this morning, she told me yesterday and I had thought she’d come tell you. She thought the time away would help. There is a boy, Cole-”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “It’s fine. It’s…” she let out a breath and shook her head. “I don’t expect anything from her other than seething hate, but I would have thought she’d at least say goodbye to Jules.” 

“They’ll be back, Wren. She’ll come back.” 

Wren shifted on the bench again, angling her body away. “What else was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

Cullen watched her and his fingers itched to reach out, to stroke her arm and take her hand. To try and ease the hurt she so obviously felt. “Have you thought any more about speaking with Adan? Taking up making your tonics and potions again? I really think-”

Wren turned her face to look at him, and he couldn’t read the expression on her face. Then Jules was jumping up from the ground. “Ry!” he shouted, running, carved horse in hand. Rylen crouched down just as Jules reached him, and it was a punch to the gut. Jules excitement about his new horse, a gift from Blackwall. Cullen looked down at his hands and he felt absurd. Jealous hurt filled him. But he knew he should be glad that Jules and Wren obviously had people who cared. 

Was Blackwall one of her patrons at the brothel? The image of her body tangled with Blackwall’s joined the one of her on her knees for Rylen and he rubbed hard at his eyes, willing it away.

“I thought that you and Rylen would have spoken about it,” Wren said and Cullen dropped his hands and looked at her, stunned. His mind caught up in the image of her, naked and wrapped around other men. How many of the soldiers? How many of the scouts? The templars? Bile burned his throat. Was she having to play that role again of the desperate mage in a circle?

She was speaking, but her words weren’t registering. Mathari had said Wren’s back was bad. Because of her time at the brothel? He’d kill them. He’d find whoever it was who had hurt her and he’d kill them.

“The templars,” Wren’s words cut through his racing mind and he flinched.

“What?” he rasped out and stared at her with wide eyes.

“Cullen? Are you alright?” She reached out a hand, warm fingers sliding over the back of his hand. Soft and calloused. Her other hand lifted to his forehead, then down to press against his cheek. “You feel warm, is it the withdrawal again?” 

Reaching up he caught the hand on his cheek, and it took every bit of restraint not to turn his head, to kiss her palm, her wrist, and up until he found her mouth. But he didn’t let go, he brought it down and then he simply clasped her hands in his. “Headache,” he said by way of explanation because it was the easiest excuse. “Just a headache, I’m sorry. I… what were you saying?”

Wren’s fingers squeezed around his. “I’ll get you something for it. I’ve been experimenting, I thought Rylen would have mentioned it.” 

At that moment movement caught Cullen’s eye, as Rylen stood, ruffled Jules’ hair, and then crossed to them. He stroked a hand down the back of Wren’s head, through her hair before leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Hey, lass, I’ve got a handful of soldiers on their way to help clear out that room, and then we can start setting it up how you want. You have that list I asked for?” 

Wren’s cheeks went pink and her hands tightened on Cullen’s for a second before she tugged them free. “It’s on the kitchen table,” she told Rylen.

“Cullen,” Rylen inclined his head and then he went inside the apartment, Jules trailing after him.

“I made that tonic that I used for withdrawal symptoms for you. I don’t know if it will work for the lyrium, but Rylen asked me to try and figure out something. He says there are other templars who want to stop taking it, like you, and he convinced Lady Montilyet somehow that it was a good idea. I told him I could do it in the apartment, but, between the two of them, they worked it all out. An old storage room is being converted into a workspace for me.” 

It stung, to be perfectly honest, he thought, sitting back. He watched as, like Rylen had mentioned, a handful of soldiers filed into the garden and headed for one of the rooms they used for storage. It was exactly what he’d wanted for her. It shouldn’t matter how it came about, only that it did. “Is it what you want?” he asked because she’d seemed reluctant when he’d suggested it, though that may have just been because she’d been angry with him.

Wren was quiet for a long time and he finally turned his head to look at her profile. She was staring toward the room. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed it. Maybe it was self-preservation, not allowing myself to think about it and what I had lost. But when I made those tonics for you, and then, Elgar’nan did you know that stupid purple flower, the one that  Alaros  charged you obscene amounts of coin for grows wild around here? It’s everywhere and-” her voice hitched. “Making tonics is one thing, but believe it or not, I want to help the templars,” she said it with a quiet laugh. “I want to help you and Rylen and the others who want more. It’s given me a purpose, something that I can do to help people. So yes, it is what I want.” 

“Good,” Cullen said quietly. “That’s… good.” 

“Mama!” Jules shouted as he rushed out of the apartment ahead of Rylen. “Can I help Ry?” he shouted. “I wanna help!” Wren glanced toward the room, the big soldiers hefting large crates and heavy furniture.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“But-but I wanna!” his face crumbled and big tears filled his eyes.

“Baby,” Wren reached out and tugged him closer so she could lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. “I know you want to help. But they are moving big heavy things, and it’s not just Rylen. It’s too crowded.”

“I’ll be real careful,” he vowed, giving her the most pathetic puppy dog eyes she’d ever seen.

“Tell you what, we let them take everything out, and when the time comes to start putting things back in, you can help with that.” Beyond a table or two, and some shelves it would mostly be small things. Jules sniffled and rubbed at his eyes. “How does that sound?” 

He sniffled again and nodded. “Okay.” He walked away, shoulders slumped to sit back down at his little village, chin resting on his hands while he watched the soldiers and Rylen work.

“Yes,” Wren said softly. “Please. With Mathari gone, I could use a hand with him. I know you’re probably very busy, so it doesn’t have to be every day.” Oh, but she wished it could be. She wanted Cullen to be a part of Jules’ life. 

“Anytime you need me,” Cullen interrupted her. 

Wren looked at him. This was the man she loved. Awkward and a little bashful, but eager too. He styled his hair differently, no longer the tight curls she’d stroked her fingers through so many nights. “This afternoon, if you can? There are a few things I need to do, though it shouldn’t take too long.” 

Cullen reached out, his hand covering her own. Warm and calloused and she remembered the feel of it. The sensation of those fingers on her skin. Tracing her freckles. Caressing her most intimate places. Her cheeks heated and she knew that she needed to stop thinking like that. Cullen was off-limits, and she was going to make an effort with Blackwall when he returned. “Take as long as you need,” he reassured her, squeezing her hand. “I have a question, though.”  She looked up from his hand on hers. “I woke up yesterday with a bite mark on the back of my hand, do you… have any idea where that came from?” 

Wren’s cheeks went even hotter as she remembered her desperate attempt to escape his hold. “Of course not,” she said and it sounded like a lie to her own ears. 

He chuckled. And it was a low sound that warmed her insides. “You bit me,” he accused and she heard the mirth in his voice and it was so familiar, such a wonderful thing that she peeked up at him through her lashes and felt the corner of her mouth curve up slightly.

“Maybe,” she admitted. 

“Why in the world would you-”

“Hannah was about to walk through the door.” 

And just like that, the amusement was gone. The warmth inside her was doused and she withdrew her hands from his. “Right,” Cullen said, drawing his own hands back to fall in his lap. “Right. I have a few things to take care of, then I’ll come back and stay with Jules.” 

Cullen raked a hand through his hair as he stood up. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can bring you or Jules?”

Wren shook her head. “No, I think we have everything we need right now.” 

“If that changes, if there is anything I can get that will make things easier for either of you, just let me know.” She watched him leave the garden, realized she had never gotten him that tonic for his head and made a mental note to have something for him when he came by later. 

“We’ll finish this up tomorrow,” Rylen reassured Wren as the soldiers left. The room was cleared out, ready to become her workspace.

“Rylen, I can’t thank you enough,” she said peering into the now empty room. 

She felt the light caress of his fingers trailing down her spine to rest at the small of her back. “Don’t thank me, lass, it’s largely selfish,” he said with a grin. 

“Liar,” Wren laughed. “You can’t help yourself, can you? You see a problem and nothing is going to stop you from figuring out how to fix it.” He gave a little half-shrug but was still grinning. “Well, nonetheless, I am grateful.” She stared for a minute longer, excited to get a broom and maybe a rag and a bucket of water so she could clean. “Rylen?”

His hand still rested on her back. He always touched her so casually and Wren had to admit, she liked it. “Hmm?” 

She sunk her teeth into her lower lip as she contemplated. Rylen wasn’t interested in her, was he? Wren had agreed to allow Blackwall to court her, did that meant that what she was thinking of asking Rylen crossed some kind of line? “I have a favor to ask,” she said quietly. Surely, Blackwall wouldn’t hold it against her. But if she and Rylen were just friends now, only friends, was it asking too much?

“What do you need, lass?”

“I made a new salve,” she told him, looking at him and taking in his face. “For my back, using that plant, but I, I can’t exactly reach. I know it’s asking a lot, but sometime this evening, would you be willing to rub it into my back for me?” she asked, hopeful. “If you want I can repay you with dinner?”

Rylen laughed quietly and gave his head a little shake. “You don’t have to repay me, but I rather like you’re cooking, and your company, so I’ll accept.”

Cullen walked through the main hall, heading for Hannah’s quarters. He intended on gathering his clothing and then he’d head to Wren’s. He’d spent the last few hours running through how best to apologize to Jules. How to make things right with his son. And he wasn’t any closer to figuring it out than he had been first thing that morning.

“Cullen?”

Josephine poked her head out from her office door. “Are you heading up to the Inquisitors?”

“I am,” he said. “It would appear the laundry staff has decided that is where all my tunics go.” 

She smiled. “Well, when she is here, you do spend more time in her quarters than your own,” she reminded him and he scowled at her.

“That is beside the point. Did you need something?” his tone came out a bit sharper than he’d meant to and he quickly apologized when she raised her brows at him. 

“There should be some papers on Hannah’s desk that I haven’t had a chance to run up and get but I need to send them out. Do me a favor and gather them while you’re up there?” Cullen nodded and continued on his task. Jogging up the stairs, he stood on the top landing and just looked around the room for a long moment. 

There were good memories. He had enjoyed his time with Hannah. He liked her, cared about her, he wouldn’t have tumbled into bed so easily with her if it were otherwise. Taking a deep breath he went to the drawer where she always put his tunics and grabbed the small stack, then to the desk to collect the papers requested by Josephine. 

A partially burned piece of paper sitting on the hearth caught his attention. It looked as if it had been tossed into the fire but blown out before it burned fully. He had no intention of reading it as he crouched and picked it up. Cullen had planned to simply crumple it up and toss it back into the cold fireplace.

Only the handwriting caught his attention. It was familiar. And it wasn’t Hannah’s. 

It was half-burned, and as Cullen’s eyes skimmed over the words, no doubt it was the repeated chastisement.

_ but to allow the woman you love think it? What is wrong with you? In case you are confused, Wren, the woman you wrote to me about, proclaiming your love for, and begging my approval, just arrived on my doorstep and I have never seen a more heartbroken soul. _

He crouched there, staring at the letter for a long time. The letter he’d been searching for. What was it doing in Hannah’s quarters? 

She’d known. 

She’d known and she’d hidden it from him.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after like 2 weeks of constant writing, my muse dried up and blew away - I am considering going into mourning. ~~(or rather, craptastic week and zero motivation to write no matter how hard I tried)~~ I still do not love this chapter. It's mostly filler and probably unnecessary. But fingers crossed that now that I've got past this lump I'll be able to write regularly again. ~~(especially since ComicCon was officially canceled so I don't have to spend my every waking moment working on embroidery)~~

Cullen was staggered by the sense of betrayal he felt after finding Mia’s letter in Hannah’s quarters. He’d finished his task in a daze, taking the papers to Josephine before returning his laundry to his own quarters. He ran the soldiers through drills and took care of various Inquisition matters. He threw the letter he had written to Mia in the trash with the plan to write to her with entirely different questions as soon as he could think clearly. 

He was angry. But mostly, he was disappointed. She had hidden it from him. Lied to him. 

Finding himself at Wren’s door, he had no real memory of getting there. But he had agreed to watch Jules. He wanted to watch Jules, to get to know him. And he wanted to fix things with Wren. But could he? Did he even deserve it? The morose thoughts nearly had him turning away. But he drew himself up and forced his hand up to the door to knock.

He heard voices inside, the sound of running, a body slamming into the door, and then it opened and Jules stood there. He looked up and the joy that had been there a moment ago vanished. The boy stared up at him for a second, then swung the door closed and Cullen closed his eyes.  _ Shit _ , he thought. 

“Julian Roan!” he heard Wren shout inside and then the door opened again and she smiled at him apologetically. “Sorry, I just told him that Mathari is going to be gone for a little while and he’s… not happy.” Cullen opened his mouth, ready to tell her it was a bad idea. “What’s wrong?” she frowned at him, a crease forming between her brows as she peered up at him. “What happened?” He didn’t say anything, trying to form the words, to figure out what to say to her, and as he watched her, he saw her seem to deflate. Her shoulders sagged and disappointment was written plain across her features. “You changed your mind.” 

Wren blinked and her eyes were noticeably damp and she looked away, her jaw set. “Fine,” she said shortly and started to close the door.

Cullen’s hand shot out, bracing against the door. “That isn’t-” the look she shot him was full of knowing anger. “I don’t know what to do, Wren. Jules doesn’t seem inclined to want to spend any time with me.” 

“You apologize to him and you make a fucking effort,” she gritted out, voice low and furious. “Or you stay away.” Wren shook her head. “Forget it, let me know when you figure out what it is you want,” she said, pushing at the door again.

_ You. I want you and I want Jules and I’m just so damn afraid of screwing it all up _ . “I’m sorry,” Cullen said, hand still against the door. “I want to be here,” he told her quietly, voice adamant. “I’m scared,” he admitted, and her face instantly softened. “I’ve already made a mess of it all and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“You haven’t,” she reassured him and Cullen knew he didn’t deserve it, gave her a disbelieving look. “Just spend some time with your son,” she said gently. “He’ll forgive you.”

“What if I jut make it worse?”

Wren’s head canted to the side as she looked at him. “You’re good with children, Cullen. All you have to do is try.” She stepped back and turned to look down the hall. “Jules, come on, come out here.” After a few moments his head poked out of one of the open doors.

“Nu-uh.” She just watched him, one brow lifting, a hand resting on her hip.

“Julian. Come here, please.” The boy huffed, arms over his chest, and stomped his feet the entire way down the hall and into the living room.

“I want ‘Thari.” 

“I already told you, she went away for a little while. I have a few things I need to do, so Cullen is going to stay with you.”

“Wanna come with you,” Jules wailed, head falling back, hands curling into fists at his sides. “Don’t wanna stay! I wanna go with you!” It was a kick to the stomach. He deserved it. Wren crossed to where Julian stood and knelt down in front of him. She spoke quiet words, a gentle hand stroking through his curls. Julian sniffled, lower lip trembling and then he nodded. Wren smiled, pressed a kiss to his forehead, and stood.

She seemed to be moving easily enough and Cullen was grateful that she had access to the medicine she needed for the pain and he felt terrible that it hadn’t crossed his mind sooner. “I won’t be long,” Wren said, slipping past Cullen and out the door. It closed with a quiet snick and then Cullen was alone with his son, who was looking up at him, a crease between his brows and his eyes still wet with tears. 

He wasn’t sure he could have possibly felt any more awkward at that moment. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, peering down at the boy who looked so much like he had at that age. Though his skin was a little darker, his hair a bit curlier.  _ You’re good with children, _ Wren’s gentle reassuring words echoed in his mind. Was he though?

“First of all,” Cullen said, drawing in a slow deep breath he crouched down to put himself at eye level with Jules. “I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I spoke with Wren the other day at the stables. I was foul-tempered and I took it out on her, and she didn’t deserve it.” Jules’ lips puckered into a frown. “I heard you thought I needed a time out for it,” Cullen said.

“You yelled at mama.” Tiny arms across a small chest. Cullen saw so much of Wren in him at that moment. In that stance. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“I did. And I am sorry. I regretted it as soon as I did it. And, I did already apologize to your mother. She forgave me,” I think, he added silently. “How do I earn your forgiveness, Julian?”

His face crinkled at that. “Jules,” he corrected. “‘M only Julian when mama is yelling at me.” 

“Jules,” Cullen amended with a nod and then he waited at Jules stared at him, scrutinizing, judging and he knew that the boy would find him wanting. 

“I wanna play horses,” Jules finally said and walked down the hall. Cullen was unsure if he wanted Cullen to join him, but he couldn’t leave the boy completely unattended, but as he stood, Julian reappeared clutching a bundle of items. He plopped down in front of Cullen, two wooden horses with small corks on the halla’s antlers, and Cullen winced, the boy unicorn’s sword. 

A doll tumbled to the ground and Cullen reached out, recognition tugging at his heart as he picked up the well-loved doll. “Tha’s Ari-doll,” Jules informed him.

“I remember her,” Cullen said, tracing a fingertip over the stitched-on face. His throat felt tight as he remembered the little girl who this toy had belonged to. He hadn’t thought of her in a long time. 

Jules was quiet for long moments, staring hard at the doll and at Cullen. “Mama said she died,” Jules’ voice was barely a whisper. “But… mama said my da died. But you’re here. So maybe… ‘cause mama gets sad sometimes. So what if we found her?” He looked at Cullen, a hopeful expression on his face. Cullen felt a sudden burn at the backs of his eyes.

“No,” Cullen kept his voice gentle. “I knew Ari. She was very ill. Your mama helped her for a long time, but she… she did die.”

“You died,” Jules insisted and Cullen shook his head.

“It was a mistake,” he told him. “She didn’t know.” 

Wren took her time as she made her way back toward Skyhold. Final task completed. Giving up her place in the brothel. It was unnecessary now, with how much the Inquisition was paying her. She’d gone and spoken with Lady Montilyet, appalled by the amount Rylen had told her she would be getting. But the Antivan woman had brushed off her every argument. 

She contemplated going to the bathhouse to soak but was worried about Jules and Cullen and how they were getting along. She was grateful that Cullen had come, that he was willing to try. Jules would forgive him, she knew that he would, it might take time, and effort, and she really hoped that Cullen didn’t get discouraged and give up. Hesitating at her new space, she unlocked the door and peered inside. Only a handful of things were in the room and she was eager to get started. Eager to help and be useful and to fall back into those old rhythms. Smiling to herself, she closed and locked the door before walking the short distance to the apartment. 

It was quiet, she thought, and was glad that at least Julian wasn’t screaming and throwing a tantrum. She hoped that he wasn’t ignoring Cullen either. She’d left him with a quiet threat or losing his horses for a time if he didn’t listen to Cullen, but she wasn’t sure if it would be enough. Jules was strong-willed and as stubborn as herself.

Pushing open the door while holding her breath, she waited, listened, and heard Jules’ laughter. Delighted laughs that made her chest ache. Silently closing the door behind her, she was about to call out to them, when the two appeared in the hallway, Cullen on his hands and knees, Jules on his back, fingers curled into his tunic. 

“Faster, Da! Faster!” Jules shouted, laughing and Cullen obeyed, clomping down the hall. 

Wren pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding her smile, but when Cullen let out the most ridiculous attempt at a whinny the laughter exploded from her and she nearly doubled over, tears burning her eyes.

“Mama! Da’s a horse!” 

“I-I can see that,” she laughed, hand over her heart as she met Cullen’s gaze. His face had gone such a shade of pink that she knew he was mortified, but she was utterly delighted. This was what she’d wanted. This was always what she’d wanted. Her throat felt as if it had closed off suddenly, and the tears in her eyes were suddenly for another reason.

Wren hurried into the kitchen, drawing in deep breaths in an attempt to stave off the tears and the ache in her chest. This was what she’d imagined coming home to every day for the last five years. “I take it the two of you had a good time?” she called and then started banging around, pulling out what she needed to make dinner.

“Wren?” Cullen’s voice was soft as he appeared, Jules balanced on one hip, the bog unicorn tucked against his chest while he babbled on about all the things the two of them had done. 

She turned, looked up, and met his gaze. Did he see it written all over her face? The regret and misery. This was what they could have had. “Wren,” he said again and she forced a smile on her face. It’s over, she reminded herself, she was moving on.

“Thank you, for watching Jules.”

“Thank you for letting me,” he countered and he took a step closer. She could practically feel the heat radiating off of him. “Whenever you need me, I’m here,” he told her.

Wren nodded shortly, a hand reaching out to brush the curls back from Jules's forehead, but as she dropped her hand, her knuckles brushed over Cullen’s arm and it took every bit of her restraint not to step forward, to bury herself against his chest and weep and beg for him to take her back.

Rylen’s hair was still damp from the bath as he made his way into the garden and toward Wren’s apartment. It was quiet, the only noise coming from the chittering of bugs and the gentle tinkling of water falling from the fountain. Angling his head back, he looked up at the sky. It was clear, no clouds though the stars were still hard to see against the glaring green glow of the breach not far off. 

A door opened and he glanced over, saw Cullen step out of Wren’s apartment with a final wave. He was halfway across the garden when he spotted Rylen standing there and faltered in his steps. “Rylen,” he said, inclining his head.

“Cullen,” Rylen did the same. Then they just stood there, staring at each other. “How did it go?” Rylen finally asked. “Jules forgive you?”

Cullen’s cheeks flushed. “She told you?” he asked, and Rylen wondered if it was anger or embarrassment?

Shaking his head, Rylen stuffed his hands in his pockets. “No, the lad did. Called you a ‘meany stupid head’, if I recall correctly.” Cullen’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red and he ducked his head and clenched his jaw.

“What are you…” Cullen trailed off, looking him over.

It was ornery, Rylen knew that, but it wasn’t going to stop him. “Wren’s making supper, asked me over.” He watched his friend, trying to figure out just what he was doing. Rylen knew that Cullen loved Wren, had loved her. Which meant Rylen couldn’t look at her the same. Unless Cullen had truly moved on, but he didn’t think that was the case. “She made a new salve, one with that little purple flower,” he continued on. “Asked for some help rubbing it into her back.” 

Cullen swallowed, turned his face away, swallowed again.

“Which I am more than happy to provide,” Rylen added with a grin.

“If you-” Cullen started, but broke off, shook his head and Rylen watched him with a single raised brow.

“If I…?” he waited, but Cullen just stared at him, teeth grinding. “Gonna threaten to turn me into a eunuch again?” he asked, voice low. “I don’t think you get to have any opinion on what she’s doing, or who, for that matter.”

“That’s not-” Cullen broke off again. “If you’re just after sex-”

“I paid her quite well for that,” Rylen interjected and heard the long breath Cullen drew in.

“Then keep it at the brothel,” Cullen’s voice was low and sharp. “Don’t hang around, pretending to be her friend, warming up to Jules if all you’re looking for is a place to warm your cock,” he spat out the words.

“I’m not pretending,” Rylen murmured, glancing toward the apartment door then back at Cullen, and realization seemed to dawn on him, the anger melted away. “It’d be easy to fall in love with her,” he continued. “But I know what you felt for her after she disappeared, and even if you are an arse, you’re still my friend.”

Cullen raked a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “She is easy to fall in love with. Five years and I still...I love her, Ry.”

He’d already suspected as much. “And the Inquisitor?”

“It’s over. Or well, it will be. Wren is… I don’t deserve her, but I want to fix it. I need to and I just pray that she’ll forgive me, that she might still love me or that maybe she might fall in love with me again if I do everything right.” 

Rylen narrowed his eyes slightly, watching his friend closely. “And what of the brothel, the men she’s bed, that she will bed.” Though Rylen knew after he’d told her how much Lady Josephine was going to pay her, she’d mused that she wouldn’t have to work at the brothel anymore. But if Cullen were to hold it against her in any way-

Cullen shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, I mean, it does. If anyone hurt her, I’d… I never told you about the templar I paid Hawke to kill, did I?” Rylen’s eyes widened in surprise. No, Cullen had never spoken a word about that. “He hurt her. These days, I’d simply take care of it myself. But I’ve never held it against her, I never will. I wish she didn’t have to do it, I hope that in her new task with helping with the lyrium withdrawal the Inquisition will be able to compensate her sufficiently.” Rylen was quiet for a moment, thinking over what Cullen was saying. “I love her, I want the future we talked about. But if she can’t forgive me… I know you’d treat her well.” 

And with those last words, Cullen walked away.


	55. Chapter 55

Wren’s heart ached as she stood in the doorway to Mathari’s bedroom where she’d just finished tucking Jules in, and now Rylen was reading him a story after Jules had begged and pleaded. It had been a good day, but at the same time, it had been horrible. Cullen being there, actually being Jules’ father and knowing that she had no claim on him any longer was going to break her heart. 

When Blackwall returned, she’d move on, she’d make an effort and hope that eventually what she felt for Cullen would fade, and maybe she’d be able to love someone else like that. Blackwall. A Grey Warden. Wren knew enough about them to know that there was no hope of a future with him. Not truly. But it was, she prayed, a step in the right direction. 

“G’night, mama,” Jules called, jerking Wren out of her thoughts. Rylen was still sitting on the edge of the bed, but he was watching her, a curious expression on his face.

“Good night, my baby, sleep well.” 

“Love you,” Jules mumbled, then tucking the bog unicorn and Ari-doll under his chin, he rolled over.

Rylen stood and crossed to her and Wren offered him a slightly crooked smile. “Thank you,” she whispered as they stepped out of the room and Wren tugged the door partway closed before continuing down the hall into the kitchen. She knew that Jules’ wouldn’t stay in that bed all night, he was so used to sleeping with either her or Mathari, and more often than not, if he woke in the middle of the night, he’d go from one to the other.

“It was… fun. I enjoyed it.” They made their way down the hall and Wren sunk back down into her seat at the table, picking up her abandoned mug of mead. Rylen dragged one of the other chairs closer, sitting down so the inside of his knee brushed the outside of hers.    


“I don’t just mean for reading him the story. But for everything. For the workspace, for spending time with Jules. It has been more than I ever could have hoped for in coming here,” at least, more than she’d hoped for after that first run-in with Cullen. “There are some days when I feel like coming here was a mistake, but he’s settled in so well, and so much of that is thanks to you.”

One of Rylen’s hands was curled around his mug, the other resting on his thigh. “Why do you think it was a mistake?” he asked, voice soft. 

Wren stilled, looked up, and met his gaze. “Oh,” she’d actually said that out loud, hadn’t she? “Nevermind that,” she waved a hand dismissively and took a long drink from her mug.

“Tell me,” he said, voice gently insistent. 

“It is only that… I was so naive. Five years since I left Kirkwall and I didn’t stop and think for even an instant that everything changed. That Cullen might not be happy to see me. He wasn’t, and I don’t blame him. He’s moved on and made a life for himself and he belongs here.” She took another pull from the mug, felt the warmth from the alcohol expanding inside her. “I was so… stupid.” 

Rylen’s brows drew together as he watched her. “Why do you say that?”

“Leaving Kirkwall, splitting up, he was so worried about what was going to happen, about what the Knight-Commander might do. She didn’t like me. Spent over a year having her cronies watching me. Then, leaving Jader, we should have stayed. We should have just stayed there.” The words just spilled out and she looked at Rylen, worried about what he saw, what he might have figured out.

“Why did you leave?” he asked, voice low. It was so tempting. The desire to just tell someone everything. To confess it all.

Wren opened her mouth, then pressed her lips closed and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, tearing her gaze away from eyes that saw too much.

“You still love him.” It wasn’t a question and Wren found she couldn’t even shake her no in denial.

“He was here today, spent time with Jules and… and seeing that. Seeing them together and how much fun the both of them had... I regret so much. But nothing more than them missing out on all the time they should have had. All the things Cullen missed.” A wry smile lifted the corner of her lips and she shook her head a little. “But, he’ll get those with other children, I’m sure. I imagine once the Inquisition has finished its task, he and the Inquisitor…” she trailed off, just the thought of them together leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

Rylen was quiet for a moment, drinking from his own mug. “You don’t think that he still feels anything for you?” he asked, tone curious and she shook her head.

“He’s moved on, I’m happy for him. I want him to be happy. I knew,” the words suddenly hurt. “I knew back in Kirkwall we weren’t a good match. Not truly. He’s a warrior and I’m… I’m just a crippled whore.”

A quiet sound escaped his lips, and then he leaned forward, one hand catching hers, the other coming up to grip her chin and force her to look at him. “You’re a healer. You’re a mother and a friend and you are someone who people care about. Doing that… that doesn’t define who you are. You did what you had to. And I will strike down anyone who says otherwise.” The vehemence in his voice had her jaw trembling and tears stinging her eyes. She knew what he said was true, and she’d never regretted her choices, but sometimes when she thought of all the men she’d been with, of all the things she’d done, she couldn’t help but feel like… less. Unworthy.

“I’m still crippled,” she said, her voice tight with the unshed tears.

“Has he ever judged you for that?”

And she wanted to weep. Because no, of course, he hadn’t. Cullen never judged her for anything. Never.  _ I’ll carry you _ , his quiet vow when he’d sworn that it would never make a difference to him. “Why are you… it doesn’t matter, Rylen,” Wren forced out the words. “He’s moved on. And so have I.” A brow lifted at that. “The Warden Blackwall, he… he asked if I would let him court me and I told him yes.”  Rylen released his hold on her jaw, sat back, and grabbed his mug, draining it. Guilt swelled in her chest and she looked away. She had nothing to feel guilty about. Except for all the lying. So many lies. One day they might just eat her alive. Wren pushed back from the table, and got to her feet.

“I’ll start working on the tonic for the Templars tomorrow,” she said, heading for the door. “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” He still sat there, frowning, watching her.

“Your back-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.”

Slowly, Rylen got to his feet and crossed to where she stood, hand curled around the knob, door wide open. “You’re angry with me,” he said quietly.

“No,” she said simply. “But you should go.”

He stood there, seemingly at a loss and she didn’t blame him. But it was too much, it was all too much. His kindness, his realization that she was still absolutely in love with Cullen. They were friends. Would he tell Cullen? Then what? Then Cullen surely would be angry with her again and she couldn’t handle that. “Wren,” he said her name, soft and gentle. “Lass, whatever I said that upset you, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t,” she swallowed and he gave her a knowing look. Then he leaned in, brushed a kiss against her cheek, and slipped out the door. She locked up, doused the lights, and then went into her room where she changed for bed and collapsed onto the mattress, exhausted. Only sleep didn’t come. She lay there, staring up at the ceiling until she heard Jules’ quiet feet padding from the other room. The bed shifted, and he crawled up beside her, Ari-doll clutched to his chest as he wiggled and squirmed as he nestled in beside her. A tear escaped, rolling down her temple and into her hair as she continued staring up at the ceiling.

The next morning, Wren was exhausted, but she forced herself into a good mood, for Jules’ sake. When Cullen arrived after breakfast, she faltered, thinking back on the conversation with Rylen the night before. “I thought I’d take him out to help me run to troops through their drills, and I promised him a tour of the battlements.” 

Jules was practically bouncing with excitement. “Oh,” she said quietly. Yes, of course, this is what she wanted. Cullen and Jules spending time with each other. “That sounds wonderful,” then she looked at Jules. Hair a mess, berries smeared on his cheeks. “Go get cleaned up and dressed,” she told him and he ran down the hall. Wren started to gather the dirty dishes from the table, her own breakfast she’d hardly touched, but then Cullen was there, taking the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen. He set them in the sink and ran some water over them.

“How did that new salve work out?” he asked, glancing over at her. Wren stilled, one hand braced on the counter, the other curled around her cane as she had started to walk into the kitchen. “I ran into Rylen when I was leaving last night, he mentioned you’d asked him to rub your back with it.” 

Ridiculously, heat burned her cheeks. “Oh,” she snapped her mouth shut, feeling more embarrassed for how she’d acted toward Rylen the night before. “I didn’t-we didn’t-” The little tub of salve still sat on the counter, untouched. “He just ended up staying for dinner.”

Cullen turned to her, frowning as he dried his hands on a towel. “But your back?”

“It’s fine,” she lied. She’d rub some on later, though it wouldn’t be the same, not being able to work out any of the knots she knew were there. “If I’m not here when you bring him back, I should be over there,” she waved in the direction of her new workspace. “The rest of what I need is supposed to be brought in today and I would like to get started as soon as I can.” 

Then Jules was there, hair still a mess, but his face was clean and he was dressed. “Mama, shoes,” he said, and she saw the loose laces. She knelt, making quick work of tying them before tugging him close and kissing his cheek.

“You be good, alright, listen to Cullen.”

“Yes, mama,” he said, giving her a big nod before looking up at Cullen, eyes wide and hopeful. Someday, she thought, the aching in her chest would fade. She stood up and Cullen looked at her, some unreadable expression on his face and she forced a smile.

“We’ll see you later then,” Cullen said quietly, then extended a hand to Jules. Before they were even out the door, Jules was chattering excitedly and the forced smile turned into a real one, though it was sad. They’d missed out on so much and it was her fault. Leaning heavily against the counter, she rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes. 

Cullen was frowning as they left the garden. His thoughts on Wren and how exhausted she looked. Jules was excited, listing all the things he hoped to see from the battlements and he found himself grinning a bit.  _ Small steps _ , he thought. Jules didn’t hate him. He had, at least, for the most part, forgiven Cullen. If he could win over his son, maybe he had hopes of winning over Wren.

“Ry!” Jules shouted and the other man lifted a hand, then closed the distance. “Da is gonna take me to the battlements! We’re gonna train with the soldiers too!” 

“Sounds like a full day,” Rylen said and he looked at Cullen and Cullen wanted to ask him what had happened the night before. Why Wren had looked so miserable when he’d arrived? But they couldn’t discuss it, not with Jules right there. Rylen ruffled Jules’ hair and then with a nod to Cullen, continued on his way. 

Cullen and Jules walked the battlements, he lifted Jules up onto his hip to give him a better view, of the mountains, of the little village, of the people in Skyhold. He pointed out the expansive stables that housed far more horses than he’d seen the other day and promised to show him all of it. Then they went down to the training yard, ran the soldiers through their drills, and Jules watched them spar with eyes wide and Cullen thought about getting him a small shield and sword. Would Wren be alright with that? He wondered and decided he’d ask her before he bought it.

When Jules began to whine about being hungry, Cullen took him to the tavern. “How about we get something and take it back to the gardens to share with your mom?” Jules nodded, delighted. Tray in hand, they navigated their way back to the gardens and found Wren sitting at a long work table, covered in papers with her neat handwriting. Her cauldron sat beside her, bubbling away over a small flame and there was a still on another table and so many bottles and jars that Cullen was amazed it had all only just been brought in today.

Her head was bowed, so intent on her work that she didn’t notice them at first. Not until Jules shouted. “Mama! We brought lunch!” as he ran toward her.

“Oh!” Wren jerked, startled, and then she laughed, catching Jules against her side as he ran into her side, arms winding around her waist. She looked up, met Cullen’s gaze and there was something so soft in that look that it nearly took his knees out. “You had fun?” she asked, smoothing a hand down the back of Jules’ head.

“Uh-huh!” Da this, and Da that, Jules told her, in quick happy words. The stables and the soldiers. The mountains and all the snow. “Lunch!” he finally said, tugging back from her. “Come eat!”

Cullen was smiling a little at Jules, his heart warmed by how happy he was. “I thought-” Cullen cleared his throat. “I know how you get when you start working, Jules was hungry, so I thought I’d get you both something to eat.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Wren said, grabbing her cane as she stood.

“I wanted to,” he admitted. Then Jules was darting past him, out the door, and the short distance to the apartment where he disappeared inside.

Wren was quiet for a moment, just looking up at him, then she offered him a small smile. “Well, thank you.” He followed her to the apartment, set the food on the table, and then felt awkward. He had hoped to join them, to spend more time with both Jules and Wren. But he wasn’t sure if Wren would want him there and he was wary of pushing too much. “I’ll let you two-” he said, taking a step away from the table.

“Da! Stay!” Jules said, pointing to the chair across from Wren. 

“Oh, I-”  _ I want to. I so desperately want to,  _ he thought.

Wren turned a little in her seat and looked up at him. “You brought us more than enough food, you’re welcome to join us unless you have work to do?”

Cullen felt a kindling of hope burning inside of him. “Yes,” he said, then shook his head, cheeks flaming. “I mean, the work will keep, I would… very much like to join you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up having to rewrite the scene between Wren and Rylen like five times because the previous scene with Cullen didn't go how I'd originally planned and Rylen was just going to be a brat and push all of Cullen's buttons, but then Cullen had to go and admit things and *sigh* Rylen just couldn't do it. Which made MY life horrible trying to figure out the scene after dinner.


	56. Chapter 56

Wren tried her best to ignore the curious looks from the scouts on patrol as she made her way along the rampart. She didn’t blame them for being curious. It was late. So late that Skyhold was nearly silent, even the tavern had closed for the night. And she was walking along, a nearly half asleep Jules at her side. She wasn’t much better on that front. 

He’d woken her up an hour earlier, sobbing, a bad dream having convinced him that Mathari was going to get hurt. The only thing that had finally soothed him was the promise to write her. Wren had meant in the morning, but Jules had insisted, practically dragging her from bed. Then he’d refused to sleep until the letter had been delivered to Cullen. “I’m sure he’s asleep,” Wren had tried to tell him, but her son, ever the epitome of stubbornness, had insisted they could at least leave it at his office.

Which was why she was now, cloak thrown over her shift, making her way toward Cullen’s office at the most obscene hour of night. Jules’ still dressed in his pajamas, feet shoved into boots that she hadn’t bothered to lace, trudged along beside her, too tired to even think of running ahead. She almost wished he would, so she wouldn’t have to make the entire walk. But finally, they reached Cullen’s door. “Just slide it under,” she told him quietly. The letter to Mathari had been accompanied with a quick jotted note, asking Cullen to send it first thing, by request of Jules. 

Jules crouched down onto his knees, leaned forward on his elbows and slowly began working the letter under the door. The door sprang open, and Cullen was there, his brow furrowed as he took in the scene before him. “What…?” His hair was mussed, though he didn’t look like he’d been sleeping. Stripped out of his armor to a simple tunic and trousers, he still wore his boots.

“Da!” Jules exclaimed, hopping up and thrusting the letter at him. “Send it! Send it to ‘Thari!” 

Cullen looked to Wren for an explanation as he took the letter.

“Someone had a bad dream,” Wren told him, leaning against the stone wall. “He’s worried about her, and wanted to write to her.”

“I’ll make sure Leliana sends it off first thing,” Cullen promised, crouching down to look Jules’ in the eye. “I’m sure that Mathari is fine though, we would have heard. I get reports daily from them.”

Tears welled up in Jules’ eyes again. “Promise?”

“Tell you what,” Cullen said, reaching out to wrap his arms around Jules, he lifted him to his chest as he stood. “I’ll read you the reports we get from them. And I’m sure Mathari will write back as soon as she gets your letter.”

“Okay,” Jules’ voice was small and then he wrapped his arms around Cullen’s neck and rested his cheek there.

“I’ll walk you back,” Cullen said softly, one hand smoothing over the back of Jules’ head. Wren would have protested, but it looked like Jules was already asleep, so she simply inclined her head. They were quiet for a few minutes, Cullen easily matching her slow stride. 

Her muscles were stiff, an aching that the tonic didn’t touch. She had tried to rub some of the salve into her back herself, but it hadn’t helped. And though she had apologized to Rylen for how she’d acted, she’d been unable to ask him to do it for her. “I think I nearly have a tonic ready for the templars,” she told Cullen. “I made the one for the withdrawal symptoms, the one that helps with the headaches and the aches, but knowing the side effects of quitting the lyrium, the fact that it could kill them if they stop, I’ve been trying to figure out something else as well.” 

“Do you have everything you need?” Cullen asked.

Wren nodded. “I will need volunteers though. I have been thinking about it, six to start with. But, I want each of them to have someone who they are close to, I think it would be best if they were templars too, but someone who would notice any changes in them. Personality-wise, who would be able to recognize quickly if something was wrong.”

“I’ll see to it,” Cullen promised. They reached the stairs that led down into the garden, and he offered her his arm without a word or even a glance. Wren took it. Sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow, while she gripped her cane with the other. Each step was a slow, painful battle of wills with her body. At the bottom of the stairs, she felt unsteady enough that she continued to hold onto his arm, and Cullen didn’t object. 

She did her best to ignore the warmth she felt beneath her hand. The strength he possessed. “I’ll put him in his bed,” Cullen said as they stepped inside the apartment, Wren nodded, unfastening her cloak and then he was down the hall. She braced her hand against the wall as she took off her shoes, and then realized just how sheer her shift was and how naked she was beneath it. Heat burned her cheeks and she grabbed that blue scarf and tugged it over her shoulders, it didn’t cover much, but hung low enough that at least her breasts weren’t fully visible. 

Padding down the hall, she peered into the room, Cullen had tugged off Julian’s shoes and was drawing the blankets up around him. “I love you,” Cullen said quietly, leaning down to press a kiss to the sleeping boy’s forehead. Wren’s heart clenched violently in her chest. Pain lanced through her.

“Love you,” came the mumbled reply, as Jules curled up on his side, Ari-doll clutched to his chest. 

Cullen glanced up, met Wren’s gaze, and offered her a small half-smile. He smoothed a hand over Jule’s head then stood and was walking toward her. Wren took a step back, winced when the shift pulled at something in her leg. “You’re hurting,” Cullen said with a frown.

“It’s fine,” she told him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked giving his head a little shake.

“For all that you two missed out on.” The lack of sleep had to be catching up with her. “I never should have-” she broke off. “I shouldn’t have kept him from you, and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life,” she looked past him, to her son, to _their_ son. 

“Why did you?” his voice was soft, it didn’t hold any anger and she almost wished it did. If he stayed angry with her, it would be so much easier to accept that it was over.

Wren opened her mouth, then shook her head, biting down on her tongue. “It doesn’t matter.”

He didn’t say anything for several long moments, she waited for the anger, for the argument that would come. Except that it didn’t. He canted his head to the side, inspecting her. “Have you had Rylen use that new salve you made?” Her cheeks went pink and she ducked her head, shaking it slightly. “Wren,” her name was an exasperated sigh. “Why not?” She didn’t say anything. “Alright, go lay down,” he gestured to the open door to her bedroom, to the bed with tousled sheets. “Where is the salve?”

“What?” Wren looked up, shook her head. “No, absolutely-” 

“You’re hurting. I can see it on your face. That walk and the stairs aren’t going to have helped matters. I’ve rubbed your back before. Let me do this for you.”

She wanted to argue, to protest. But the words died in her throat. Because she wanted him to and it shamed her. “The Inquisitor-” she started, the only argument she had.

“Would be appalled if I let you suffer when I knew I could help.” Still, she couldn’t get her legs to move. “Wren,” his voice was gentle and settled over her, warming her from the inside. How many nights had he said her name like that? In the dark of her small room, while he held her. “Let me.” 

Swallowing, Wren finally nodded, then crossed the hall and went into the room. She hesitated for a moment, then tugged off the scarf and stretched out on her stomach. “The salve is right there,” she pointed to the jar on the nightstand. Wren wasn’t sure she was breathing as she closed her eyes and waited.

The rattle of the jar, then the bed dipped beside her thigh, then warmth as he straddled her legs, though he wasn’t touching her. Big hands curled around the bottom hem of her shift, pushing it up, up, over her thighs and her rear. Up her back, where it finally pooled just below her shoulders. Heat was burning her cheeks again. She felt more exposed than she ever had when she’d been naked with a client at the brothel. “Not too hard,” she said quickly, “it’s been… a long time.” 

There was a slight hesitation, then a soft murmur of “alright” and then the salve was cold against the skin at the base of her spine. She sucked in a breath and the gentle pressure of his hands had Wren’s eyes slipping shut and a quiet moan escaping her lips. Familiar. It was so familiar, though his hands were more calloused, rougher than before. But she didn’t mind it. 

Cullen massaged the salve into her lower back, each touch seeming to be so careful he was afraid he might break her. “You can press harder,” Wren said after a few minutes, feeling her muscles seeming to melt beneath his ministrations. He obeyed. Another moan escaped. “Yes,” she breathed out and was lost to the sensation. His hands worked up her back, along her spine, and pushing up beneath her bunched up shift to knead her shoulders. Then he made his way back down, silent and steady. 

He focused on a spot between hip and spine on her right side, the worst knot, then his weight shifted and he was working down her thigh. He’d remembered that was the side that pained her most, ever since that final encounter with Morelli. Cullen worked down her calf, then shifted to her other leg, repeated the process. 

Wren was barely awake by the time he’d finished, her body lax beneath him. Carefully he drew her shift back down her body and the blanket up around her. “Thank you,” she murmured, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.

“Any time,” he said and Wren knew she must have already drifted off to sleep because she knew Cullen wouldn’t have pressed a kiss to her temple. 

She dreamed of him. Dreamed of his mouth on her spine. Kissing up the length of it to nuzzle her neck. A hand fisting in her hair, while the other one, fingers traced over skin, mapping out constellations in her freckles. He whispered quiet promises of love and pleasure against the shell of her ear. 

A hand on her belly, heavy with child as he moved over her, in her. Fingers entwined, bound with several ribbons twining and knotted, binding them together. Forever, his quiet vow. Forever. Pleasure and love built and crested.

She was alone and empty. Bereft and her chest ached with despair. Wren’s breathing was ragged as she blinked away the tears that filled her eyes. Throwing back the blankets, she sat up, her muscles loose and relaxed from Cullen’s gentle massage and she had no idea how much was from his touch and how much the salve.

Wren dressed, though she’d only slept a few hours, and the sun was still at least an hour away from cresting over the horizon. She ignored the dampness of her smalls and mentally cursed herself for letting Cullen put his hands on her. She should have known better. 


	57. Chapter 57

Rylen sat at a table in the tavern, his friend across from him, silently brooding. He’d been trying to decide how much to tell him. What to say. What would cross the line in betraying his friendship with Wren? More importantly, did it count as a betrayal when the two were stupid in love with each other? He thought back to that conversation the day before when she’d apologized for how she’d acted a few nights earlier. 

_ “You see too much,” she told him, avoiding looking him in the eye. _

_ “You do still love him, don’t you?” He’d kept his voice gentle, coaxing and she’d jerked her head in a slight nod. _

_ “But it doesn’t matter anymore. Too much… I’ve told too many lies, too much time has passed. I just want him to be happy.” _

_ “Don’t you deserve that too? Happiness?” _

_ “I am happy,” she’d forced a smile on her face. “Jules is healthy and happy and,” she laughed quietly. “Doted on by so many people. Mathari is…” she trailed off and shrugged. “Figuring out her own life and I have a job to do, a purpose in helping the templars.”  _

So did he tell his friend that he still had a chance with her because she did still love him? Did he mention Blackwall wanting to court her? Or would that just cause his friend to give up? Cullen had been in a mood all day. Not exactly a foul one, but distracted, as if his mind were a million miles away. 

Rylen tapped his fingers on the table. It was evening, the tavern was loud and crowded. He leaned forward slightly so he wouldn’t have to shout. “Why do you look as if someone kicked your dog?”

Cullen looked up, frowned. “Why didn’t she let you use the salve on her back?”

Rylen took a long drink from his mug, watching his friend “I made her mad.” Cullen’s frown turned into a scowl. “Pointed out something she didn’t want to talk about, and she threw me out.”

“Good,” Cullen said. “Don’t-” he broke off, clenched his jaw, looked away.

“Aren’t you curious about what made her mad?” Rylen lifted his brow. “It has to do with you.” 

Cullen scoffed, leaning back in his seat as he speared his hand through his hair. “Then I really don’t care to know,” he said with a resigned sigh. “She barely even looked at me today when I went to get Jules. I’ve been taking her lunch because she forgets to eat when she’s working and, by the Maker, she is so thin. She barely ate, just pushed her food around.” 

“Maybe,” Rylen began, glancing around.  _ They were both miserable idiots _ , he thought. “Maybe that’s because she’s still in love with you and thinks you’re better off with the Inquisitor, thinks you’re happy with her.” Cullen just blinked, then blinked again, staring across the table at him. “She believes you’re better off without her since she’s nothing but a crippled whore.”

Rage flickered across Cullen’s face, he leaned forward, and Rylen was certain he was about to get a fist to the face. “Don’t you-”

He held up a hand. “Her words. Not mine,” he gritted out. He heard the breath Cullen drew in, long and deep, jaw still clenched before he leaned back in his seat and cursed quietly.

“She’s always felt like that,” he glanced off toward something unseen, just staring. “No matter how many times I tried to tell her otherwise, she never believed me. Never has been willing to accept that I love her and I couldn’t care less what she does for a living or whether her legs work or not.” 

Cullen raked his hand through his hair once more, thinking of the letter he’d written to Mia the night before, what he’d been doing when he’d heard the paper being shoved under his door. He’d written to her, and asked for advice. Explained what had happened, everything. Even down to how he’d acted when Wren had first arrived. He fully expected a full page of his sister verbally blistering his backside. But he knew she’d help. Have words of wisdom for him. At least, he hoped so. 

“So what are you going to do?” Rylen asked and Cullen looked at his friend and was grateful for the information he’d given him. She did still love him, even though he’d been the worst kind of bastard when she had first arrived. He had a chance, he had something to hope for. If only he could somehow convince her that she was the only person he wanted and get her to believe it. 

“I… don’t know,” he said with a sigh, truly uncertain. Cullen thought of how he had courted her in Kirkwall, the little gifts he sent to her, how happy they had made her. Would she see through it? Realize what he was doing? “Court her the best I can,” he admitted, considering. Flowers, she’d always liked getting flowers. Perhaps tomorrow he and Jules would go pick some for her. 

Rylen cleared his throat and rubbed a hand down over his mouth and along his jaw. “Speaking of courting…” he trailed off, a guilty expression crossing his face. 

“What did you do?” Cullen said more a statement than a question.

“I didn’t do anything.” Rylen held up his hands. “But Blackwall… Wren said he asked to court her, and she was going to let him.” Rylen’s words deflated him. Cullen sat back, hands dropping onto the table as a vaguely nauseous sensation roiled in his belly. Blackwall. She wanted him to court her? “She thinks you’re happy with the Inquisitor and that she doesn’t have anything to offer you,” Ry continued and Cullen once more raked a hand through his hair. 

Two months. He had at least two months to make Wren realize that he loved her. Two months to woo her. He could go to her, tell her he loved her, but from what Rylen had told him, what he already knew of her, he didn’t think that would help his cause, because she was too damned stubborn. 

No, it would have to be a careful dance. Make sure she was happy, felt comfortable, and knew she belonged there at Skyhold. That she was needed.

Cullen pursed his lips, considered speaking with Dagna, and the risk of setting a task before her. But Cullen wanted Wren to be free to go where she pleased, for all the stairs not to pose an obstacle for her, and surely there were others in Skyhold who had trouble with them? 

Wren worked. She worked and worked, even when she wasn’t in her workroom, she spent the evenings going over her notes, fine-tuning and planning other tonics. Because people had started to come to ask her for things. Little things. A tisane for a cough. A salve for a bad burn. Something to soothe a colicky baby. 

She didn’t have to charge them, not a single one. Josephine had made it clear that the Inquisition would pay her, what she thought was a ridiculous amount of money, and supply her with everything she could possibly need if she could help the people of Skyhold. When Adan had shown up at her door, she’d expected him to rail at her for it, for taking over what he’d been doing for so many months.

“Good riddance,” he’d said with a wave of his hand. “I’m an alchemist, not a healer.” But then he’d stayed for a little while, and she showed him what she was doing for the Templars, and he’d been kind enough to provide some suggestions.

Cullen spent time with Jules and had so easily slipped into the role as his father. Sure enough, he brought and read the reports for Jules, though she knew he skimmed over much of the details because Elgar’nan knew a four-year-old did not care in the least about the troop movements. Mathari wrote, promised she was alright and she’d be careful, and included a small sketch of a field with an entire herd of halla. 

And Cullen was simply there, he always checked to make sure she had what she needed, both in the apartment and her workshop. They hadn’t discussed the massage, though Wren’s body hadn’t felt so normal in years. Partially from the salve, but she knew much was due to Cullen’s hands and knowing just what pained her.

Nearly two weeks since she’d begun, the templars had started the tonic, and the room beside her workspace had been converted into a sort of clinic. It was easier, Rylen had said with a shrug. If any of the templars were ill, it would be close to her supplies, close to her apartment and Jules, so she wouldn’t have to traipse all over Skyhold. 

She was worried that things would be tense with Rylen, but after she’d apologized, confessed her reasons, they had slipped back into how they had been. He’d show up some evenings and play with Jules, share a drink with her, but he didn’t push. Never pushed about what she had confessed to him.

“Mama!” she heard the shouting from a distance, knew they likely had only just entered the other side of the garden. Wren imagined no one else enjoyed the yelling like she did. He was happy. So happy it made her heart feel as if it would burst. “Mama!” she glanced up through the large window, saw him running full tilt along the path toward her door, while Cullen trailed behind. “Mama!” 

She’d left the door open, despite the cold, the small room easily grew too warm with the fire that heated her cauldron and the still. “Mama!” One last shout as he flew over the threshold and skidded to a stop beside her. “Lookit!” he held up a small round wooden shield. “Lookit what da gave me!”

Wren peered at the shield, it was simple, with a freshly painted emblem on the front. Cullen appeared partially in the doorway a second later, looking nervous. “There is a dalish craftsman in the village,” he explained. “I asked if they could paint a design on it.” Vines painted in a pale green circled the outer edge and in the center, the head of a halla, trimmed in gold that shone even in the dim light of the room. 

“It is lovely,” Wren told him. “Did you say thank you?” she gave a knowing look to Jules.

“Thank you da!” he said and then ran past him back into the garden. There were a handful of children who had begun to congregate in the garden, and Jules had befriended them all.

“We uh-” Cullen cleared his throat. “While we were out in the village, we uh-” He finally stepped into the room fully and in his hand was a small bouquet of flowers, in shades of purple and yellow. “Jules wanted to pick these for you.”

Warmth blossomed in her heart, just like the flowers in Cullen’s hand. “Jules, huh?” a small smile curved up the corners of her mouth as she reached out to take them from him. 

“Well, I might have suggested it,” he explained and reached up to rub a hand over the back of his neck. “But Jules picked them. You’ll be glad to know that I drew the line when he wanted to get the one that was covered in little spines.” 

She laughed, she couldn’t help it, even if it also made her want to cry. He used to pick flowers for her all the time when they were in Kirkwall, those had been her favorite gifts. Some she’d kept pressed between the pages of what few books she had. Though those were gone now, left behind in Kirkwall.

“I upset you,” Cullen said quietly, and Wren blinked because he was crouched down beside her chair, one hand curled around the back of it. “Wren, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head a little, tried to force that smile back onto her lips. “I was just remembering, it was a long time ago.” She lifted the flowers up to press her nose into them, to breathe in their sweet scent. 

He was quiet for a few moments, still crouched beside her and it took everything in her not to reach out, to run her hand along his cheek. “I didn’t bring lunch, I was hoping I could entice you out of the garden to join Jules and I at the tavern.” 

“Oh, I’m not sure…”

“You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time. You need a break every now and then,” he cajoled and Wren gave him a look. When he looked at her like that, it was so easy to forget the last five years. There was a twinkle in his eye as he looked at her, a smile curving up the corner of his mouth. A mouth that she had kissed more times than she could remember. 

Her cheeks flamed at the thought and she looked away. She’d had more dreams. Every night. Dreams of Cullen’s hands on her, of him lying in bed with her. Whispering those damn vows in her ear.  _ Blood to blood, bone to bone _ . “Alright,” she relented because she couldn’t lie, she enjoyed what little time she got to spend with Cullen when she got to watch him with their son. It would change when the Inquisitor returned, when Blackwall came back and started courting her. 

She couldn’t even imagine in her wildest fantasy her and Blackwall spending time with Cullen and Hannah. But then again, they had known each other for some time now, perhaps they wouldn’t mind. But Wren absolutely would. 

“Good.” Cullen grinned at her and straightened up. He reached for her cloak that hung on the door and waited for her to get up and close the distance. Then he wrapped it around her shoulders like it was the most normal thing to do. “Jules,” he called and he came running, shouting a goodbye to his friends.

Wren locked the door and they began walking, Cullen keeping pace beside her while Jules ran ahead and darted back and forth. “I hear your tonics have gotten quite popular already,” he said glancing at her and she felt her cheeks warm.

“They have, I didn’t...I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“You’re skilled, Wren. Why else do you think I was trying to talk you into it?”

“To get me out of the brothel,” she said, the words slipping out before she could think about them. “Sorry, that was-”

“You’re not completely wrong,” Cullen said shoving his hands into his pockets. “But you know it isn’t because I think badly of you for doing it, right?” His expression was so ardent. “You never did it because you wanted to, because you enjoyed it. Mathari had mentioned your back being worse, and I have seen it for myself. Now that you’re here there is no reason for it.” They were silent as they left the garden and Wren chewed on her lip. “You haven’t been back there, not since Mathari left. I told you if you needed me to come and watch Jules, I will.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know, I quit. The Inquisition is paying me an appalling sum of money for my silly little tonics.” 

“Your tonics are not silly,” he said sharply and Wren couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

“But you don’t disagree that I’m being paid a ridiculous amount?”

Cullen shook his head, pushing open the door to the tavern for her. They walked to a table and he pulled out one of the chairs for her to sit in and Wren did, sinking into it, and then Jules clambered into the one beside her before Cullen sat in the one opposite her. “You’re being paid well, yes. But everyone in the Inquisition is paid as well as we can manage. You’re doing us a service. You’re providing something that the people of Skyhold might otherwise not have been able to get. You’re worth every single coin.” 

Wren ducked her head. He was so fervent in his praise it made her feel warm inside. Touched. They ate, and Wren did her best to memorize every single moment. She would hold onto them. Cherish them. Because she knew that once the Inquisitor returned, she wouldn’t be privy to these moments between Cullen and Jules. 


	58. Chapter 58

It was later than usual by the time Cullen made his way into the garden. Jules was playing by himself with his horses near the still open door to Wren’s workroom. He felt guilty for being late, and even worse that he still had other things to do. But he had promised Jules a trip to the stables and he would see it through. “Sorry I’m late,” he said leaning against the doorframe.

Wren looked up, a soft smile graced her features and it was like a kick to the chest. He didn’t think she had forgiven him wholly for how he’d acted when she first arrived, as well she shouldn’t. He’d been the worst kind of bastard. But she smiled more. Over the last few weeks he’d watched her settle in, she didn’t look so thin and fragile. “It’s alright,” she said with a little wave of her hand. “You have a very important job to do. Jules understands.” 

“How are things?” he asked.

“Good,” Wren looked back down at the work in front of her, carefully measuring powders into a mortar. “Greyson was ill yesterday, nothing so bad, and I’m not sure if it was from the withdrawal or the night of drinking he apparently had,” she said with a soft laugh. “But Tabby is keeping an eye on him.”

“I’d say more than likely it was the latter,” he told her. “There is a woman who makes wine and, Maker, I don’t know what she puts in it, but it’s as strong as The Iron Bull’s maraas-lok but tastes like candy going down. Many a soldier have fallen prey to that poison of hers.” 

“You sound as if you speak from experience.” Cullen gave her a look, that made it clear he did and Wren tossed her head back and laughed. It warmed him from the inside out, seeing her like this.

“Excuse me, Commander,” a voice came from behind and Cullen turned, allowing a woman to slip past him. “Sorry to interrupt.” The dwarven woman rested her hands on her rounded belly and beamed at Wren. “Baby is moving,” she said and Cullen watched the way Wren’s face lit up. Delight seemed to radiate from her.

“Oh, come here, come here!” she held her hands out and Cullen watched her press her hands to the woman’s stomach, shift around until she sighed. “Oh,” it was a quiet sound and Cullen swallowed hard. “Baby,” she murmured. “Babies,” she said with a chuckle. “I still think there are two in there.”

“I am beginning to think you might be right,” the woman said, sounding weary, but happy.

And Cullen suddenly felt like he was intruding. “Jules and I will take off, I’ll bring him back around lunch,” their usual pattern. Wren looked up at him, and there was still that joy, that warmth in her eyes as she nodded, and then focused her attention back to the woman in front of her. 

Had there been that joy when she had been pregnant with Jules? Or had it been weighed down by grief? He couldn’t help but wonder. He knew how badly she had wanted children. As many children as they could have. _“They’ll never be alone,”_ her quiet words as they lay entangled in the sheets and each other.

“Come on, Jules,” Cullen said.

“Stables? Horses!?” Jules jumped up, halla in hand. He ran inside Wren’s workroom, then came running back out, shouting a goodbye to Wren over his shoulder. 

“Yes, but first we have to go run to soldiers through their drills.” He had Rylen on another task and had no other choice but to do this one himself. Jules’ shoulders slumped and Cullen held out a hand to him. “It won’t take long,” he promised.

Only it did, everything seemed to be taking far longer today. Everyone seemed sluggish. “Can we go to the stables now?” Jules let out a whine from where he sat in a patch of grass, hand on his cheek.

“Soon,” Cullen told him. “Soon,” he repeated before shouting at one of the soldiers whose sloppy moves would have cost him his life. Jules sighed, and Cullen focused on the soldiers. “That’s it, you’re done,” he shouted at them. “Run five laps around Skyhold, you’re all miserable-” he glanced behind him, to where Jules had been sitting quietly for the last… Cullen had no idea how much time had passed.

All the air left his lungs. Jules wasn’t there. The wooden carved halla was. Sitting in that little patch of grass. “Jules?” Cullen called, eyes scanning, looking back toward Skyhold, searching everywhere around them. “Julian?!” But he was nowhere to be seen.

“My lady,” Wren looked up at the panicked voice of one of the scouts standing in her doorway.

“What is it?” she was already reaching for her cane. “Is someone hurt?”

“The Commander-” the man broke off. “Come, quickly.” 

Had one of the soldiers been hurt while training? She wondered. “Alright, I’m coming, it’s alright, just breathe,” she soothed, then grabbed her cloak and followed. As she followed the scout, she noticed everyone seemed to be in a bit of a panic. There were scouts and soldiers running about and Wren worried her lower lip. She knew about Haven and the attack. Was something like that about to happen again?

She heard Cullen’s voice as they grew closer, shouting orders, but she couldn’t decipher the words. “Wren,” his voice broke as he spotted her and she frowned, glancing around.

“Where’s Jules?” a look of pure misery graced his features. “Cullen? Where is Julian?” The realization was beginning to dawn on her, no matter how hard she tried to keep it at bay.

“I don’t know,” his voice cracked and Wren felt herself crack too. In his hand was the wooden halla.

She felt as if her heart snapped in two. “What do you mean-” she blinked at him. “Where is my son!?” she screamed it, closing the distance to shove his chest hard enough that he took a step back. She pushed him again. “What did you do!? Where is he!?” Again she shoved at him and he let her. Angry tears were streaming down her cheeks. Jules. Jules. All the scouts and soldiers running around frantic. They were looking for him.

“I’m going-” he swallowed. “I’m going to look for him. I’m going to find him. Wren, I’m-” he broke off and she saw how miserable he felt, and she didn’t care. Because Jules was missing.

“Find. My. Son,” she snarled at him and grabbed the wooden toy away from him. She stood, panting, unable to move now because when she’d started shoving him, she’d dropped her cane and knew she wasn’t steady enough to take a single step without it.

“I will. I… I will.” Then he was gone, walking out the front gates of Skyhold, and fear gripped her even tighter. Anger, because she knew she wouldn’t be any good searching for him, so she could only wait. Wait, and pray that he was alright.

“My lady,” a quiet voice, the scout who had come for her now stood at her side, her cane in his hand. “Perhaps, up on the battlements, where you can see everything?” he offered and she nodded. He withdrew a handkerchief and held it out to her and she stared at it, realized her cheeks were still wet with tears that kept blurring her vision.

On the battlements, she paced the small space, back and forth. The shouts of Julian’s name echoing inside Skyhold and out. Wren was shaking, her hands trembling. What if they didn’t find him? What if they found him and he was hurt? No, no, she couldn’t think like that, she chastised herself. He’d be fine. He was fine. 

Time stretched out, every second seemed to last an hour. 

  
  


Cullen was certain he’d never been so afraid in his entire life. Not even when he’d seen the dragon at Skyhold. Not when facing down Meredith. Not even when he’d been trapped in that magical cage in the circle tower. He could never forgive himself for this. Knew that Wren wouldn’t either. He pictured that delighted smile that had been on her face just that morning, and then the look for distraught rage when she had realized Jules was missing. 

It had been well over an hour of looking and there was no sign of him anywhere. There were wild animals out there, and the idea that one might have hurt him? But the fact that there had been no sign of blood so far was hopeful. But the longer he remained missing, the higher the likelihood that something terrible had happened. 

“Commander!” it was a shout and Cullen jerked around, Rylen was on a horse, riding toward him. “We found him,” relief coursed through him. “He’s with Wren, unhurt.” Rylen dismounted, then held the reigns out to him. “Go on,” he jerked his head back toward Skyhold, and Cullen didn’t object. He had to see for himself. He needed to see that Jules was alright, despite his failure. 

He dismounted the horse just inside the gates of Skyhold and was running up the stairs, his heart pounding in his chest. Wren stood stiffly, Jules close by, tears running down his cheeks. Even knowing it was likely the last time Wren would allow him near the boy, Cullen caught him up in his arms, held him to his chest, then pulled back enough to look him over, to make sure he wasn’t hurt. His cheeks were red, due to the cold or his tears, Cullen wasn’t sure, but otherwise, he seemed fine and Cullen clutched him to his chest again.

“Julian,” Wren’s voice held an edge. “Don’t you have something to say?”

“‘m sorry daddy,” Jules sobbed, small arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding onto him. “‘m sorry.”

Cullen looked to Wren for an explanation. She wouldn’t look at him, her jaw tight. “He decided you were taking too long and went to the stables himself. Then when he heard his name being called he stayed hidden. Master Dennet just happened to find him in the stable with the bog unicorn.” Cullen felt the blood drain from his face. This was his fault. Thankfully, Jules was alright, but had anything happened to him? Cullen felt ill at the thought. 

“Go with Callie,” Wren said, and Cullen realized there was a woman standing not far away, the mother of one of the children Jules often played with in the gardens. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

Cullen squeezed Julian tighter for a second, pressed a kiss to the top of his head before setting him down.

“‘m sorry, mama,” Jules sniffled and then walked over to Callie who held a hand out to them. 

Then they were alone and Cullen rubbed his hand over his face. “Wren, I am-”

She held up a hand, her face unreadable. “Don’t,” she bit out the word and then there were tears rolling down her face again. “Gods, Cullen,” her voice cracked. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.” He wanted to go to her, but held back, waiting for her to start yelling at him again. “I’m sorry for shouting at you like that, but I was just-” her voice broke on a sob, and Cullen couldn’t take it any longer. He closed the distance, and her arms were around his waist, clinging to him. Without the chest plate, her cheek pressed against his chest and he felt the tears soak through his tunic.

“You had every right to shout at me,” he said softly, sliding one hand up and into her hair where he cupped the back of her head. Cullen closed his eyes and rested his head against hers. “I’m so sorry, Wren. I… I screwed up. I failed. I thought I’d only turned my back for a second, but then-” 

She held him tighter, shook her head. “He knows better, he knows better and he-” she let out a quiet sob and Cullen tightened his arms around her. 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said it again, could never say it enough. He failed not just Julian, but Wren as well. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry.” 

Wren drew back enough to tip her head up to look at him. She shook her head a little. “Stop apologizing. I think we all…” she swallowed. “I’m sorry for screaming at you and shoving you.”

He couldn’t help himself, he slid his hand to cup her cheek, to wipe away the remnants of tears there. “Honestly, I would have been worried if you hadn’t. I was… glad to see that anger.” Her brows drew together as she peered up at him. “You’ve been… quiet. Reserved since coming to Skyhold. So different from the woman I knew in Kirkwall who yelled at the Knight-Commander.” Her cheeks went pink and she ducked her head and Cullen leaned down to press a kiss to her crown. “I’m glad to know you’re still the same woman I knew there. That you still have that spark.”

After a moment, Wren drew back, keeping her head lowered as she wiped at her face. “Stupid templar,” she said quietly and Cullen felt his lips twist up just a bit. Then she drew in a shaky breath and straightened. “Alright, we should go. Jules…” she shook her head a little. “I told him he had to sit in time out until we got there.”

“We?” Cullen said, voice a little hopeful, and Wren nodded.

“Yes. Come on,” she said and turned to start back toward the gardens.

“Wait,” Cullen reached out and caught her arm. “There is something I want to show you.” Dagna had only finished it earlier that day and he’d been eager to show it to Wren. She hesitated for a moment and then followed him. They made their way through one of the tower rooms, and onto the next space and then through his office. “Here,” he gestured to the wooden platform surrounded by a waist-high wooden wall.

“What is this?” Wren frowned, staring. 

“A lift. Dagna made it, I asked her, I know you have trouble with the stairs, and you’re not the only one. There were quite a few injured in Haven that made that sort of thing difficult, a soldier lost the lower half of his leg, but he still wanted to be able to do his duty, to keep a lookout. I tested it, with the added weight of several other soldiers. It’s… safe.”

Wren just blinked. “You… you did this?” she asked quietly.

“Technically, Dagna did. I just suggested it. She’s going to put one in by the stairs in the garden, and at as many of the other stairs in Skyhold as we can fit. I asked this one to be the first because I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Cullen,” she whispered and there were tears in her eyes again. “Thank you, this is…” she wiped at her eyes and stepped up to the gate, and Cullen drew it open for her and then followed. Pulling the lever, the lift descended smoothly, depositing them at the ground level. They made their way through Skyhold and into the gardens.

Jules sat on a bench, feet swinging, while he stared down at the ground, looking miserable. “I know you have other things you need to do today, obviously, but could you just stay for a little while. I think… I think it would be good after … after.” Wren asked, voice low as they began to make their way along the path.

“I’m here, Wren, as long as you need me.” This was more important.

They came to a stop a few feet away from where Jules sat and the boy looked up, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. He sniffled, but didn’t get up, he just stared up at them. “‘m sorry,” he mumbled again and Wren crouched down at his side, then glanced up at Cullen and he moved to mirror her position.

“You understand why what you did was wrong?”

Jules nodded. “‘Cause no one could find me. And- and-” he sniffled again and rubbed a fist against his eye. “And you were scareded that I got hurted.”

Cullen reached out a hand and smoothed it down Julian’s curls. “I’m sorry, Jules. I should have paid closer attention. I promised I’d take you to the stables.”

Wren met his gaze, mouthed “I’m sorry, too,” then drew in a breath. “That is your punishment, Julian Roan. No more trips to the stables for the next week. And if I ever hear that you went into one of those stables alone again, you’ll never so much as look at another horse.” The boy looked even more miserable at the prospect.

“Sorry, mama,” he whispered and then leaned forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders and hold her tightly. “I won’t do it again.” Then he released her, and did the same to Cullen, clinging to him. Cullen wrapped his arms around him and then held him as he stood when Wren did.

“Alright, well, I’m not sure about either of you, but I’m famished, let’s go eat,” she said heading for the apartment. Cullen trailed behind her.

“Do... do you still love me?” Julian asked, his voice wet with tears.

“Oh, Jules,” Cullen sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Of course, I do. You scared me. You scared your mom, and honestly, I think you scared most of the people at Skyhold. But that doesn’t change how much I love you.” 


End file.
